


Golden Age

by zeitgeistic (faire_weather)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Hermione Granger, Drama, Environmentalism, F/F, Food, H/D Pottermore Fair 2015, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff Common Room, Hufflepuff Draco Malfoy, Hufflepuff Harry Potter, Hugs, Inter-House Unity, M/M, Magic, Mixed Hermione, Muggle Technology, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Re-Sorting, Romance, Secret Organizations, Wizarding Religions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faire_weather/pseuds/zeitgeistic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Celtic druids once made a decision that kept magic in abundance in Britannia, but they couldn’t account for the technological advances Muggles would make centuries later. Now magic is dying on the isles, and this is not a dark lord that Harry can fight. OR: Harry Potter doesn’t save the world this time, but he does get a lot of hugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Re-sorting of Hufflepuff

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to digthewriter and firethesound for the beta!
> 
> For [Prompt #45](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1oKxFrF86d2c3FuVesbbG1NW8mLM0kphzpOwJLy225kY/edit):
> 
> Inspired by Pottermore entry: B8. When most of the students in Harry’s year return to Hogwarts for their 8th year, tension rises tremendously between Slytherin and the rest of the Houses. McGonagall decided that all the 8th years should be resorted into a new and secondary House to unite them. Harry and Draco both ended up in Hufflepuff.
> 
> FOLLOW ME ON TUMBLR for snippets, what I'm working on next, and to ask me anything :) [lol-zeitgeistic on Tumblr](http://lol-zeitgeistic.tumblr.com/)

“Dumbledore never would’ve allowed this,” Ron said irritably. He stabbed his fork into a steak and kidney pie, splattering gravy across the table and barely missing Dean’s hand. “It’s outrageous!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “What are you so afraid of, Ron?” she said, hiding the little smirk on her mouth by pulling her book up higher. She looked over the top and innocently added, “Do you think you’ll end up in Slytherin?”

Ron gagged. On the words, not the pie. Ron never gagged on pie.

“You probably wanted to be in Ravenclaw all along,” Ron muttered, and Hermione’s lips pinched in annoyance.

“I did not!” she said.

“Did too, I bet,” Ron said.

Meanwhile, next to Ron, Harry was quietly having a nervous breakdown. He stared at McGonagall’s moving mouth, and knew she’d already started talking about Quidditch trials coming up later in the week and blah blah blah, but the only words he could hear were a drumline of “Seventh and second-time-around seventh years - eighth years - shall submit to being re-sorted into a secondary house at the close of dinner tonight.”

“But _why_?!” Harry suddenly shouted, and everyone stopped eating and turned to look at him. At the head table, McGonagall snapped her mouth shut and gave him a pinched look. Harry felt the colour drain from his face.

“Why _what_ , Mr Potter?” said McGonagall tersely. “You _know_ why veteran players must try out for their teams each year.”

Harry glanced around the hall and, swallowing, said, “Why do we have to be re-sorted? Headmistress,” he added quickly.

McGonagall rolled her eyes so strongly that Harry could see the action all the way from his spot at the Gryffindor table. “Because, Mr Potter, school has been in session for a mere two days, and already three houses are in a constant war with the fourth. I won’t have it. I know in previous years that a blind eye has been turned towards these ‘little tiffs,’ but you will all soon find that this Headmistress shan’t be playing those games.”

“ _This_ headmistress,” Ron muttered sourly.

“As I was saying–” said McGonagall.

“But is it _mandatory_?” Harry interrupted.

McGonagall was annoyed now. “Mr Potter, a year off from Hogwarts seems to have impacted your listening abilities. This is absolutely mandatory. All seventh years and all eighth years – yes, even those who defeated He Who Must Not Be Named – will be re-sorted into a secondary house in order to promote unity.”

Harry was on thin ice, but he’d been on thinner. “I just don’t understand _how_ it can promote unity. Couldn’t we have, I don’t know, intramural Quidditch or something?”

McGonagall’s eyes flashed. “You will find that you have more in common than you thought once you’re _forced_ to interact with others from different houses. And if this goes well, I will be implementing it as a requirement for all seventh year students from here on.” She paused to give the entire hall a glare. “So it _will_ go well. Am I clear?”

There was a heavy silence.

“ _Am I clear?_ ” she repeated.

“Yes,” Harry muttered. Next to him, Ron huffed. The other students quietly echoed Harry, their yesses falling soft and staggered like little raindrops against the dining tables.

“And as for you, Mr Potter,” McGonagall continued, “since you are so invested in this experiment, you will be sorted first.” Harry gaped at her. “Come along, Potter. We shall start the re-sorting now, and give you all time to have pudding with your new housemates.”

Harry remained glued to his bench, one hand grabbing onto Ron’s leg in a death grip until Ron gave him a pointed look and he grabbed onto Hermione’s leg instead. He couldn’t be re-sorted. He _couldn’t_. There was no way in Voldemort’s rotting knickers that Harry would go up there and let that fucking hat call out ‘SLYTHERIN!’ for the whole hall to hear. _Never_.

“Potter!” McGonagall snapped, and as if under Imperio, Harry scurried up to the head table. McGonagall always was able to compel him to act right, he thought sourly.

His heart was pounding wildly as he climbed the few steps to the top of the dais where the podium, stool, and head table were. Just over seven years ago, he’d done this same thing, and not been half afraid as he was now. If he were sorted into Slytherin tonight, he’d never make it out of that dungeon alive. Surely McGonagall wouldn’t throw him to those snakes and leave him to fend for himself?

He knew, logically, that not all of the Slytherins had been in favour of Voldemort’s victory, but some had. And he was pretty sure that at least a couple of them had returned for their seventh and eighth years. Frankly, Harry was surprised so many had. It was as if they’d filled up their rosters out of pride and determination more than any real desire to be here.

But more than that, Harry just didn’t want the whole world to know his secret. He knew that Slytherins had to have some redeeming qualities. Probably. Malfoy had neglected to identify him to Bellatrix, after all… But there probably weren’t too many of those redeeming qualities. And Harry strived to be good. He was finally a free man, with no prophecy hanging over his head, no destiny to fulfil. And he wanted to start this new life out on a positive note. Not as a Slytherin.

 _‘Not Slytherin, not Slytherin,’_ he chanted in his head as he approached the stool. McGonagall gave him a stern look and tossed her gaze towards the stool, directing him to sit. He did, under duress.

“After Mr Potter is sorted, he will join his new house for the remainder of dinner. We will thence go in alphabetical order until each and every seventh and eighth year student has been re-sorted.”

The hall was sullenly silent. Even the Hufflepuffs looked resentful.

She placed the hat on Harry’s head. _‘Not Slytherin,’_ he chanted, eyes scrunched tightly closed.

 _‘Hello again, Mr Potter,’_ the Hat said. This time, he was older and acutely aware of the feeling of another presence rifling through his mind. It felt like Snape using Legilimency on him, if Snape were to do it nicely.

_‘Hullo, Hat.’_

He felt like his mind was a Rolodex and the Hat was carefully fingering through each memory, pausing to look at some and skipping others. He could feel the flip-flip-flip of each memory, each personality trait, go by as the Hat looked him over. Harry squirmed under the intimacy of it.

 _‘Still not interested in Slytherin?’_ asked the Hat, casually.

 _‘I’m begging you,’_ replied Harry. _‘You can’t send me there.’_

The Hat chuckled. _‘I only take requests once, my friend.’_ It paused, apparently thinking. _‘Actually, I never take requests. Although sometimes making a request will show enough personality to definitively decide between two nearly equal choices. Now, let me see...are you cunning?’_

 _‘Definitely not,’_ Harry said, with some relief. The Hat could check all it wanted on that one and would find his answer to be true.

A series of memories flashed before him. He saw himself using the map to sneak down to Hogsmeade, a dozen instances of tip-toeing past Snape in his cloak, burning the planner Hermione got him for Christmas one year and telling her he must’ve lost it in Herbology, making Polyjuice Potion.

 _‘There’s a fair bit of cunning here,’_ the Hat said pointedly, and Harry slumped on the stool. He was so fucked. And so it went. The Hat showed him his ambition, his resourcefulness, his resolution. It felt like he watched his Slytherin side for half an hour, but it couldn’t have been more than forty-five seconds. By the end, Harry was defeated and resigned. He imagined himself wearing green robes and having to share a Potions table with Pansy Parkinson.

 _‘Well I think I’ve seen enough,’_ the Hat said.

 _‘Fine,’_ Harry muttered.

“Hufflepuff!” it yelled, and Harry nearly fell off his stool.

 _‘What?!’_ Harry said, reaching up to grab the Hat’s rim so McGonagall couldn’t tug it off him. _‘I thought you were going to put me in Slytherin.’_

He could practically feel the Hat’s shrug. _‘I thought about it, but there is a theme to all of your memories, Mr Potter: you are as tenacious as an angry bulldog and just as hard working – well, except for your schoolwork, that is, but perhaps that will change this year? You have evolved from the boy I met seven years ago. Hufflepuff is your house now.’_

And with that, McGonagall snatched the Hat from his head. Harry stumbled down from the dais as if he were weightless. He floated over to the Hufflepuff table and took a seat next to Hannah Abbott in a daze. And then, his face split into a grin. It wasn’t Gryffindor, but it also wasn’t Slytherin. He breathed a sigh of relief, and helped himself to some pudding, which tasted a little weird. He suddenly had an appetite again, and since Ron wasn’t at this table, there was food left.

“Ms Abbott, if you please,” said McGonagall. Harry’s table-mate squeaked and scurried up to the front before the hall had even had a chance to react to the first eighth year being re-sorted. Most of them passed in a blur. Hermione did end up in Ravenclaw – as if anyone would’ve thought otherwise – but Goyle ended up in Gryffindor, which was a total surprise for, apparently, the entire school.

The Hat called Hufflepuff for Neville, too, thank Merlin. Harry would have at least one friend here. But, instead of coming to their table, he ran over to Professor Sprout, whispered something to her, and then they’d both rushed out of the Great Hall. Still alone at his new table, Harry looked over at Gryffindor and gave Ron a desperate look; he didn’t know what he was trying to say with it except ‘This is actually kind of horrifying’. There was a chance Ron would come here, too, but Harry was trying not to get too hopeful.

Luna went to Hufflepuff, too, as did, unfortunately Malfoy, who sat as far from them as possible. Theodore Nott to Ravenclaw, no surprise there; he always did look like a swot, Harry thought. But Bulstrode? To Ravenclaw? Was the Hat mad?

“I’ve always wanted to be in the same house as you, Harry,” said Luna, taking Hannah’s abandoned seat. Poor Hannah had ended up in Slytherin, as did Susan Bones. It was highly suspicious.

“This will be so fun. I hear the Hufflepuffs have neat things in their den,” Luna continued. “Why did the Hat put you in Hufflepuff? He told me that I’m patient and loyal. I think he forgot that I’m also mysterious, like Hufflepuffs.”

“Mysterious?” said Harry.

“You’ll see,” said Luna. “It has to remain mysterious for now.”

Pansy Parkinson went to Ravenclaw, which sent eyebrows up all around, but fewer were surprised by Zacharias Smith going to Slytherin. They finally got to Ginny. Harry watched her sorting avidly. They hadn’t got back together yet, and they might not ever, but there was still something between them, something that he couldn’t ignore, even if it was just that she felt like family. He liked having her around, even if he probably didn't want to kiss her.

‘Slytherin!’ called the Hat, and Harry frowned. Maybe he should’ve guessed that. She gave him a little smile as she hopped down from the dais and went to join a gaggle of Hufflepuffs and the spare Ravenclaw at Slytherin.

And then there was Ron. He looked like he was barely keeping his thoughts about the entire ordeal to himself. He was pissed off and determined; Harry could see the flat set of his mouth all the way from his new seat. Ron sat on the stool and crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly.

Harry watched his face contorting as he spoke to the hat and the hat spoke back. Ron wasn’t budging. After several minutes – certainly longer than anyone else’s sorting – the Hat called out, “Gryffindor!”

Ron smirked.

McGonagall huffed and snatched the hat from Ron’s head to glare directly at its eye hems. “Hat, this is a _re_ -sorting. You are to _re_ -sort Mr Weasley into the house appropriate for him today.”

“I did,” said the Hat. “This one is a Gryffindor.”

“Surely he has a secondary house,” said McGonagall.

“Nope,” said the Hat. “ _Definitely_ Gryffindor. Not a smidge of the others.”

“ _Hat_ ,” McGonagall said flatly. It was her I-am-done-with-you voice. “Sort Mr Weasley at once.”

“Headmistress, I did, and that’s all you’ll get from me,” said the Hat. It turned and looked over the hall. “Now I see we only have Mr Zabini left. He’s to stay in Slytherin as well. No, no, boy, no need to come up. I can read you all the way from there. Merlin have mercy, these two are the absolute caricatures of their houses.”

And with that, the Hat slumped, de-animating. McGonagall shook it once, and then sighed. “Mr Weasley, return to your table.”

“Yes!” said Ron.

She sighed again. “And Mr Zabini, I see you skulking nonchalantly back there. Do stop. You’re safe.”

Zabini smirked, and right then, Harry was certain that Ron and Zabini shared a moment across the Great Hall. His chest flared with jealousy. Ron was _his_ best friend, damn it, not Zabini’s. Quickly, Harry turned to the Ravenclaw table and saw Hermione and Theodore Nott _already_ talking animatedly over a book. Jealousy flared again. Damn all these people trying to steal his best friends while he was unable to protect them.

Luna handed him a caramel apple. He chomped into it desultorily. Down the table, Malfoy and Su Li were small-talking over their pudding. They didn’t look nearly as miserable as Harry felt. How was he going to get through a year of this?

 

-x-

After dinner, they all had to be led to their new common rooms by the sixth year prefects, since everyone else was re-sorted. In Harry’s case, he was now in the capable hands of a Mr Addolgar Rees and a Ms Delta Ashwood. They were not impressed with non-Hufflepuffs entering their domain.

Rees eyed the newcomers warily once they’d all exited the Great Hall. They stopped at a door leading off from the Entrance Hall and the prefect hesitated. He and Ashwood seemed to have a prolonged, telepathic conversation.

Rees sighed. “It’s down this way,” he finally said.

Torches flickered to life. A stairwell curved down and it took Harry a moment to recognize the corridor leading to the kitchens. He hadn’t seen this place in so long he’d almost forgotten about it.

Somehow, they’d lost all of the other first through sixth year Hufflepuffs over the course of dinner. Harry hadn’t even noticed it happening; one moment, their table was full, and the next it was just the newly sorted Hufflepuffs and two bleak-looking sixth year prefects.

They travelled the length of the corridor and paused by a stack of barrels where the pair of prefects hesitated again.

Ashwood pursed her lips. “Before we let you in, I should like to inform you that not a single non-Hufflepuff has entered our den in over a thousand years, when Godric Gryffindor burst through the door upon learning that Helga Hufflepuff was with child. As he had _assumed_ they were in a relationship at the time, and he had been away fighting the Muggles for twelve months, this caused a stir. There was a terrible row, and as Helga was under the effects of great hormonal changes and never one to suffer Gryffindor for too long anyway, she flung him from the den and cursed the entrance against anyone not sorted Hufflepuff.”

Ashwood paused and eyed them all sternly to make sure they were paying attention. Harry, mouth agape, could not have spoken if he wanted to. Helga Hufflepuff and Godric Gryffindor? Next to him, Malfoy snorted – and when had Malfoy come up next to him? Or had Harry come up next to Malfoy? Great, already his guard was down. How many nights would he sleep through before Malfoy murdered him in his bed?

He’d survived Voldemort, only to die embarrassingly by a Hufflepuff-Slytherin sharing his dorm room. He would probably be drooling on his pillow when it happened. He looked around for a friendly face – where was Neville? Harry hadn’t seen him since he and Professor Sprout rushed from the Great Hall. Was he contesting his sorting because Malfoy was here, too? That was an excellent idea; Harry should try it with McGonagall in the morning.

Ashwood continued: “You must be true Hufflepuffs for the Hat to have sorted you here, for it knows the curse on the den entrance. Addolgar and I have our doubts. We shall see if you pass the test.”

She eyed them, and then, abruptly, nodded her head at Luna.

“Ravenclaw,” she said, to Luna. “I have a good feeling about you. You can try first. Come here.” Luna stepped forward, and Ashwood continued, to the group, “There is no password for entering Hufflepuff. The entrance is the second barrel from the bottom in the middle row. You only need tap it in the rhythm of our founder’s name. _Hel_ -ga _Huff_ -uhl-puff. It’ll open and we can all crawl through.”

“No password?” said a seventh year Slytherin. “And you trust that?”

Addolgar smiled. “As we said, any non-Hufflepuffs who try to enter will be summarily cursed. After you, Ravenclaw.”

Luna tapped the middle barrel and the lid swung outward. She peered inside, then leaned out to give Harry a thumbs up before crawling in. The rest of the group waited for the tell-tale screech of a curse landing or splat of goo dropping on her inside the barrel. At the first sound of distress, Harry would rush in there and help, but…

Rees made an ‘ugh’ sound. “Really? No one’s going to follow? None of you are decent Hufflepuffs. I can’t believe you left your fellow badger to go through alone. We have our work cut out for us.”

“At least we like work,” Ashwood said on a sigh. It didn’t sound like they liked it too much, Harry thought. These Hufflepuffs were a weird bunch.

“Potter,” Rees said. “You’re a big hero. You next.”

And that’s how Harry became a Hufflepuff.


	2. The Completeness of Hufflepuff

Despite being quite late by the time they made it to the common room, when Harry exited the barrel door, the first thing he noticed was the light. It was warm and yellow, shining from fat tallow candles hovering like those in the Great Hall. The ceiling was hammered copper, and it reflected the light in a hundred different directions, colouring everything in the room bright and warm.

The common room was circular, with lots of gold and yellow in the upholstery and landscape paintings. The upper walls were lined in circular windows with plants stuffed into every corner, niche, and sill. A multitude of vine varieties were crawling up the walls. There were two fireplaces on either end, presumably because the den would tend towards coolness, being underground.

On one wall, there was a huge tapestry of intertwined oak branches that spelled out the words ‘Golden Cup Chapter’. There were thousands of names embroidered into it in shining gold thread, looking like leaves growing from the oaks. He couldn’t make all of them out, but he did see ‘Eloise Midgen, 1994’ on a branch nearest to him.

Malfoy immediately walked over to it and started studying the names, but Harry was more interested in the giant chessboard painted on the wooden floor. It would be hard for two blokes to play a game this big in the middle of the common room, but he knew Ron would be jealous anyway. He made a note to tell his friend first thing in the morning.

Despite the hour, the common room was full. Dozens of faces looked up at their group, and then Addolgar Rees jumped up on the table.

“Welcome to Hufflepuff. You’ve made it through the barrels, and so you must be true badgers, even if you don’t look like them yet. A few words to get you started as you adjust to your new house: We are one.”

He looked around, gauging their comprehension. “This isn’t a platitude. In Hufflepuff, we are a single unit, made up of many parts. We are individuals working towards the benefit of the group as a whole. Everything you say, everything you do outside of the Sett – our common room – should support and enhance House Hufflepuff. You should never say or do anything to embarrass, disparage, or otherwise harm or hinder your fellows. All grievances among housemates are to be resolved in-house, behind barrel doors, before a group of your peers at least six strong. Public disagreements are absolutely not okay. Any disagreement you may have with your fellows can be said before all of them at a time and place that does not harm the image of our house or cause undue embarrassment.”

It seemed to Harry that he gave him and Malfoy a particularly knowing look.

“No exceptions, understood?” said Rees. “While you wear house colours, you represent the house. Do not shame yourself by acting inappropriately. Now!” he added, with a smile, “I don’t know about you all, but I’m knackered, let’s go to bed! Or not! It’s up to you. But I’m going to bed. Goodnight, badgers!”

“Night, Addolgar!” the younger years called. Most of them followed him to bed, but a few fifth and sixth years came around to introduce themselves and welcome the newcomers.

Harry was one of the last to be approached, which wasn’t unusual – he was terrible at making friends – but eventually even the first years came up and introduced themselves to him. The numbers in Hufflepuff were roughly the same as in Gryffindor, but having all of these people here at once, passing him around as they all shook hands and smiled and said things like ‘Anything you need, anything at all’... well, it was as a weird experience, to say the least.

This had not happened in Gryffindor. There, it’d been every lion for itself, and Harry had most often been an outsider. They weren’t going to let him be an outsider here. He was welcome, whether he liked it or not. He didn’t know what to make of that.

 

-x-

“I don’t believe there’s a curse on the entrance,” Malfoy unexpectedly said to Harry as they were settling into their new dorm room.

As expected, Malfoy had chosen the best bed – a big, cushy one underneath a round window. To be fair, all the beds were big and cushy, and they were all under windows, but Malfoy’s window faced the pitch.

Neville still wasn’t back from talking to Professor Sprout, so Harry was going to let Anthony Goldstein, their fourth and final eighth year boy, take the third best bed, and Neville was going to just have to deal with the one facing the courtyard the kitchen elves used for romantic dates. It would serve him right for leaving Harry to the tender mercies of Malfoy and a Ravenclaw.

The second best bed was facing the Forbidden Forest and part of the pitch and was, of course, Harry’s. It was also next to Malfoy’s. Sometimes one had to weigh one’s priorities very carefully.

“Of course there’s a curse,” said Anthony, who didn’t appear to have a problem with where his window faced. Harry doubted he’d be looking out it much anyway. “There’s a book of expanded Hogwarts history in Ravenclaw Tower that talks about it. Dated to no later than 600 A.M., that’s _After Merlin_ , which is around the year 1100 in common tongue, so it was certainly written by a contemporary. It describes the curse as ‘too dreadful for words’”.

“Not much of a description,” Malfoy muttered. He’d already pulled out his trunk, a full wardrobe, his owl’s cage and his owl, his Nimbus, and a green and gold rug from his pocket and was currently unshrinking them. The owl looked resigned, as if he’d undergone this indignity far too many times.

They’d fallen into some sort of unspoken Hufflepuff-induced truce. Or trance. It was fragile and uneasy. Harry felt his skin crawl every time Malfoy got near him, and he didn’t know how long they could last before it all blew up. There was too much between them to just forget. And then of course, Malfoy might murder him.

But there was something new between them now. There was a single word, yelled out by a sentient hat that said something about them was _the same_. It was easy to ignore their similarities when they were in warring houses – now, it was much harder. Harry was forced to acknowledge, just the tiniest bit, that something about Malfoy was _good_ enough to be a Hufflepuff.

“I don’t feel like a real Hufflepuff,” said Harry. The weight of their re-sorting was finally settling around him. There was nothing familiar here; nothing to anchor him. If only Neville would come back, maybe that would help. But for now, it was just him and two relative strangers.

There weren’t even any familiar items; his trunk had been destroyed during seventh year and the one he had now was a brand new replacement. The beds looked so different from those in Gryffindor. He’d left Hedwig’s cage in Ron’s bedroom at the Burrow, where it would probably sit forever, gathering dust, until the next set of Weasleys came around and it was time for the eldest to go to Hogwarts and Ron and Hermione – who’d probably be married – would say, “Oh you know, I think there’s a spare cage in Ron’s old bedroom. Let’s use that one instead of buying a new one. Waste not, want not.”

Harry got his broom out and hung it above his bed, for something to remind him that this was where he slept now.

“What do you feel like?” said Anthony.

“Confused,” said Harry.

“You look it,” said Malfoy.

It didn’t quite break that fragile, infant bond, but it did annoy Harry. He latched onto that annoyance and held tight, desperately hoping it would ground him, give him something to stabilize himself. Otherwise he’d just keep spinning like his mind was, the vertigo engulfing him until he was nothing but a centrifuge of uncertainty.

“And what’s with _you_ , Malfoy? Why are you taking this so easily? I thought all your family had _always_ sorted Slytherin _forever_ , and here you are, a Hufflepuff, and you don’t seem too perturbed about it.”

“Ooh, good word,” said Goldstein. “Perturbed.” They ignored him. It was easy to ignore everything else when Malfoy had his attention.

Malfoy scowled at Harry, and there, finally, was some of the fight that’d been missing since they’d all come back for eighth year. McGonagall said there had been fights between the houses, especially involving Slytherin, but Harry hadn’t seen a spark of a jinx come out of Malfoy’s wand since they arrived back, and that...that just wasn’t right.

“Fuck off, Potter.”

“Not very Hufflepuff of you, Malfoy,” Anthony chided, snapping an extra blanket over his bed.

“Oh, I’m plenty Hufflepuff,” said Malfoy.

Harry paused. He hadn’t stopped to think how the other re-sorted Hufflepuffs had got here. “How Hufflepuff, exactly?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“I’m just curious,” said Harry, now cautiously advancing. “What did the Hat tell you?”

“None of your sodding business,” said Malfoy. His owl hooted in agreement.

Harry turned to Goldstein. “What did it tell _you_?”

“That’s rather personal,” said Anthony.

Harry sighed, and turned back to finish unpacking. “In Gryffindor, we would’ve told each other.”

“And in Slytherin, we would’ve bartered the information for something desirable,” said Malfoy. “But now we’re in Hufflepuff, and you’ll have to _earn_ it.”

Harry’s smile was sudden and rapturous. Malfoy had already turned away to tend to his beleaguered owl and didn’t see it. A challenge he could work with. And the prospect of learning how Malfoy had ended up in Hufflepuff seemed the best challenge of all. He set about unpacking his trunk with new gusto. It kept him from thinking about how far away from Ron and Hermione he was tonight.

 

-x-

The next morning, a fifth year prefect stopped them on their way out the door and reminded them to uphold Hufflepuff values. Harry had sighed, nodded, and felt compelled to straighten his black and gold tie when, upon glancing at the very conspicuously placed mirror beside the exit, he saw that it was an utter mess.

The Hufflepuffs got different sorts of breakfasts than the Gryffindors, Harry discovered. There were no pastries, no pancakes, no cereals, no toasts and jam. Instead, there was a selection of yoghurts – peanut butter and jam, rhubarb, and plain – a fruit tray, ham-and-spinach or alfalfa-and-steak quiches, and turkey bacon – baked, not fried.

“What is this shit?” Harry said.

One of the fifth year Hufflepuffs discreetly rolled his eyes at Harry and then took a rhubarb yoghurt with a side of turkey bacon for himself. Harry sighed and grabbed four pieces of turkey bacon and a ham-and-spinach quiche. Then after reflection, took a peanut butter and jam yoghurt as well.

He looked over to the Gryffindor table and saw Ron loading up his plate with croissants and kippers. Then he looked to the Ravenclaw table and saw Hermione grabbing two apples and a travel-size mushroom quiche to stuff in her bag before she, Parkinson, and Bulstrode ran out of the hall again. Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

Surely at least Ginny… Harry looked to the Slytherin table. Ginny was between a seventh year Hufflepuff and Morag McDougal from Ravenclaw. She had a plate full of posh little finger sandwiches and cheese and a huge glass of pumpkin juice.

Neville sat down next to Harry, looking exhausted. He’d still not made it to their dorm room when Harry fell asleep last night. His tie was done very nicely this morning, though. “Hey, Harry,” he said.

“Morning, Nev. You look like shit.”

“I feel it,” Neville said. His eyes spanned the table’s offerings, and he grimaced. “Can’t a man have a bloody sausage?”

“There’s turkey bacon,” Harry offered. Neville grimaced again, but nodded when Harry passed the tray to him. He took six pieces and a quiche of each flavour.

“Where were you all night?” Harry asked. “You aren’t going to leave me alone in Hufflepuff with Malfoy and Goldstein, are you?”

“Oh bollocks, we got Malfoy, too. I’d forgotten about that.” They both looked down the table, but Malfoy wasn’t there. “Oh, well, could be worse.”

Harry made a face. “I don’t see how.”

Neville laughed, and even that sounded tired. “Zach Smith could’ve still been here.”

“Ew,” said Harry.

“Seventh and eighth year students,” came McGonagall’s voice. “Please note the changes in your timetables, reflecting your new house’s class schedule. “The professors will not be accepting ignorance as an excuse for lateness this week. Thank you.”

Harry pulled his timetable from his bag and nearly jumped for joy upon seeing that most of his classes were now with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, until he realized that Malfoy was now in his house, Goyle was in Gryffindor, and Parkinson and Bulstrode were in Ravenclaw. There really was no escape, was there? His life was a constant series of attacks on all fronts.

He wondered how Ron would be holding up with Goyle. Especially with them having to share the same serving dishes at meals. And poor Hermione – she and Pansy had always been at odds. For good reason, of course. He just couldn’t imagine having to be in a house with someone who so antagonized him–

Ah.

Yes, Malfoy.

And where was Malfoy this morning, anyway? He’d already been gone by the time Harry rolled out of bed on the third snooze of his wand alarm. He wasn’t at breakfast, either.

“I need to see Professor Sprout again before classes,” Neville said, after scarfing down the last of his second quiche. “See you in class?”

“See you,” Harry said. He was still hungry after finishing his yoghurts, so he went over and slumped down next to Ron at his former seat. Ron looked at him askance. “Yellow looks awful on you, mate.”

“Tell me about it,” said Harry. “Any croissants left?”

Ron passed him one from his own plate, a true friend. “How’s Hufflepuff?”

“So weird,” said Harry, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve fully absorbed the enormity of what McGonagall made us do.” He bit into his croissant and sighed. He'd missed this. “I slept between Anthony Goldstein and Malfoy last night. And Malfoy didn’t murder me.”

Ron whistled. “He probably did try but you’re just still immortal.”

“Am not!” said Harry.

“Seriously, how did you not have nightmares all night? I don’t think I’d even be able to fall asleep with that git in the room.”

“I think he’s more concerned with being in the same house as Neville, actually,” Harry said, thinking the evening over. Malfoy had wondered (read: complained) aloud several times where Neville was last night. “Although Neville doesn’t seem to give many fucks. Anyway – Malfoy’s been tolerable, but it’s only been twelve hours, so just give it until lunch. I’m still stunned that he’s in Hufflepuff.”

“I’m stunned _you_ are,” Ron said. “How does the defeater of Voldemort end up a Hufflepuff? Only Gryffindors are supposed to get honour and valour. It’s just how the world works.”

“Look how magnificent I am,” said Harry. “I defeated a dark wizard _and_ was judged to be loyal and hardworking by a hat that went out of fashion six hundred years ago. You’re still a Gryffindor.”

“Yep,” said Ron. “Still splendid and majestic.” He craned his head to look across the hall, but apparently hadn’t seen Hermione dash out with a number of Slytherins on her heels, as he wasn’t pitching a fit. “Where’s Hermione? I’m surprised she didn’t come over with you.”

Harry would not be the one to tell him. “Looks like we’ve still got Defence together,” he said instead. Dutifully, Ron glanced down at Harry’s new timetable.

“Oh, Brilliant. And you still get Hermione for Potions – that’s not fair. Anything with Slytherin?”

“Just every class,” said Harry. “Given Malfoy.”

Ron pulled a face. “I can’t believe my traitorous sister is there now. Oh, and Goyle slept in _your_ bed last night!” he said on a harsh whisper. “We argued for twenty minutes about it, but when it came down to it, Neville’s had the best view, so I just took his instead so we didn’t have to sleep next to each other, and we’ve got a spare since there’s only four of us now, so we left Dean’s empty for a project.”

It was Ron, Goyle, Ernie Macmillan, and Michael Corner in Gryffindor now. And already they were doing _a project_ in _Harry’s_ dorm room.

“A project?” inquired Harry.

Ron caged up. “Nothing exciting.”

Across to the Slytherin table, Seamus was having a grand time playing Snap with Ginny, the Patil sisters, and Morag. The Ravenclaw table was mostly empty, save for a few bedraggled younger years. Harry looked for Malfoy all through breakfast, but he never showed.

Eventually, it was time for first classes, and he had to start his new life – the one in which he had to wear a colour that drained him and Ron got to keep all the croissants to himself. Wonderful.

 

-x-

They strolled into Defence a few minutes before class started. Malfoy was there they arrived, which was not unusual. Next to him sat Neville, which was. It wasn’t until that moment that Harry realised Neville hadn’t answered his question about where he was last night. Were he and Malfoy…?

No, that was stupid. Neville had been dating Hannah Abbott since sixth year.

Harry, lost and confused at this turn of events, stumbled to his normal desk with Ron. They dropped their bags on the table and started rooting for their inkwells, but it had so happened that Harry’s favourite green one had tipped over in his bag, so he had to share Ron’s purple one, all the while doing his best to siphon off a load of green ink from the Advanced Transfig essay that was due to McGonagall later that day.

Professor Orkney was dismayed by Harry’s disarray, which frankly stretched beyond his satchel and well into his life as a whole. Especially since yesterday. He gave Harry a deeply unimpressed gaze before turning to the class and welcoming them to another fantastic Defence lesson.

Harry, too, was unimpressed. There was something about killing a dark lord and then having to return for A-Levels that really turned a man about. Add losing his very identity, the one thing that he’d always been happy to identify himself as – not the “Boy Who Lived,” not the “Defeater of Voldemort,” not even “Harry,” but just “Gryffindor” – and he was, roughly, a doxy’s arsehole from going off the deep end.

“We have another Magical Monday ahead of us!” said the professor. He was a contemporary of Bill Weasley. They’d been friends in Hogwarts. Bill said Juniper Orkney had always been this jubilant and excitable. Bill also said that Orkney knocked them all on their arses during Defence in school. Harry found it hard to reconcile the two.

“You will all hopefully remember that our theme this term is ‘magical community defence’ and your homework for the weekend was to find an article or photograph from a newspaper or magazine that shows magical community defence or a need for it. We’ll go around the room. Ms Greengrass?”

Daphne Greengrass, now a Gryffindor, held up a photograph from last month’s _Witch Weekly_. Harry would never say how he knew it was last month’s but he would acknowledge that the ‘This Witch in History’ segments were engaging.

“I found a picture from one of Celestina Warbeck’s old Muggle concerts before she faked her death so they wouldn’t think she was living too long. It was in New York in 1991 and afterwards two Muggles saw her Apparate away from the back of the concert hall. They had to be Obliviated, obviously, and that caused a lot of stir because it was the first time a Muggle had had to be Obliviated in the US since the 1970s. They get really upset about Obliviating Muggles over there. They say it infringes on the Muggles’ rights. Now their magical Congress is going back and forth about how much their government should do to protect the magical community from exposure to Muggles.”

Orkney was very pleased. Unsurprisingly. “Oh, very good, Ms Greengrass. And an excellent insight into how a single concert can affect an entire community’s safety. Full marks.” Daphne beamed.

“Now,” said Orkney. “Let’s hear from Ms Li.”

Su Li presented on an article from the Quibbler. Then Anthony Goldstein went, and then Ron showed them a lonely hearts ad from last Thursday’s _Prophet_ that said ‘I was the one pretending to be a street magician in Muggle Lancashire, you were the one who gave me a knowing look when my spoon bent.’ And then came Neville, who, as he does, proceeded to quietly swagger in and turn everyone’s lives upside down.

“Mr Longbottom?” said Orkney.

“I have an article I found before dinner last night. I showed it to Professor Sprout and we’ve been up all night doing calculations to confirm the theory I had when I read it,” said Neville, passing around a clipping from the September _Herbology Monthly_. It had a photo of a patch of brown and crumpled wild daffodils.

“All the daffodils are dying in Wales,” Neville continued. “And the English Roses, the Scottish Heather, and the Irish Clover. Just all at once they started going. It’s a phenomenon that’s been happening since last summer.”

“That sucks,” said Goyle, quietly. Harry nearly turned around in his seat to look. He’d never heard Goyle offer a single comment in class before.

“Terribly sad,” agreed Orkney, who looked graver than his pat comment would suggest. His gaze was intense as he said, “Tell us what that means for magical community defence, Mr Longbottom.”

“The flora of the United Kingdom were cultivated by the early druids in the fourth and fifth centuries,” said Neville. “Each flower was grown for the purpose of entangling the magic of Britain in the land itself. It was meant to protect it from invaders; the theory was that if all the magical people in a village were killed, then magic would still be in the land, and new magical people would be born.”

“First, the Britons did it with Wales and Cornwall and parts of northern England; they started planting daffodils all over and blessing them with secret rituals to draw magic to the land. Then the Saxons started doing it with roses on the eastern coasts and further in, and the Gaelic druids in Ireland had always inherently known and encouraged the power of their land’s clover. Heather in Scotland – magical folk then did their magic with the earth, not against it. And it was so strong that their work has continued on well beyond them, as Britain’s magic still depends on the survival of these species.”

“This is a very old legend,” said Professor Orkney. “I assume these are the calculations you and Professor Sprout worked on last night?”

Neville nodded. “Yes, we were measuring atmospheric magic in the area from a year ago against current levels. The International Magical Data Society does an annual worldwide survey.”

“And what did you find?” asked the professor.

“It’s fading,” said Neville. “Last year, the levels were normal, stable. Today, they’re four per cent lower. It doesn’t seem like much, but it is. It means in a few years, if we don’t fix this, we’re really screwed.”

The silence following stretched out a millennia, or at least it seemed so to Harry, who was frozen in his chair next to Ron. They stared at one another, caught moments ago amid sniggers at Ron’s lonely hearts ad, and transplanted to this moment when Harry had thought his life was going to be good, if boringly normal and including more Malfoy than he would’ve liked, and he’d just been brutally proven wrong. Even Orkney was silent, contemplative.

Finally, Eloise Midgen said, “You’re saying eventually there won’t be any magic left in Britain? How long?”

Neville had not looked grimmer while wielding a sword. “Two or three months before our wards and other set magic starts falling. A decade before the land’s so dry of magic that it begins to pull it from us and we start having trouble with spells,” said Neville. “If things keep progressing as they are. I need to run some more calculations to be sure. I don’t think the editors knew what they were printing, or else they wouldn’t’ve done it.”

“But why?” said Goyle.

Neville hesitated. “Just guessing, I’d say polluted soil and water are a factor, but something must’ve happened to set it off because it didn’t start gradually.” He shrugged. “It’s too early to say for sure.”

“What could be polluting it?” wondered Tracey Davis. “I know Diagon’s smoggy in the summer, but does steam power really affect all that much?”

She’d clearly never been into Muggle London, but where Harry would’ve once been tempted to roll his eyes at this, now he just felt exhaustion – and a stronger, deeper sense of helplessness. He knew exactly what could be polluting their soil and water. And she was his housemate now, not a Slytherin. He had to help her understand it, not publicly embarrass her.

“Muggle London is much smoggier than Diagon,” said Harry. He hesitated before adding the next part, as he knew it would start shit, but it was an unbiased fact, and if it could be used to help them now, the people who’d never seen Muggle life needed to know it: “Without magic, Muggles have to use other forms of energy to do things like get around or light up rooms. A lot of these cause air and water pollution.”

“Really!” said Tracey. “Well they should stop! This is affecting everyone, not just them!”

“They know,” Sally-Anne Perks said. “My step-sister’s father is a Muggle and he works in their government. It’s a big political thing. A lot of people want to fix things, but there are others who think it isn’t as big a problem as it’s made out to be, and others who know it is, but don’t care.”

“How vile,” said Tracey. “People who want to live in a society ought not to be so apathetic about that society.”

“While I sympathize with your sentiments, Ms Davies, I believe we’re getting off-topic. Perhaps we could talk about ways this very serious matter could be addressed instead. Does anyone have any ideas? How would we protect our magical community here?”

“We’d need a two-pronged approach,” said Michael Corner. “If our wards are going to start failing, then we need to immediately get a resolution through the UMN to raise our annual Obliviation limits to take care of any Muggles who might see our communities. And we also need to get some experts on this thing and figure out for sure what’s causing the problem and what our options are for fixing it.”

“Professor Sprout’s writing to some colleagues at Oxford to get an analysis on some samples,” Neville said. “She’s pretty certain it’s hydrocarbons, but we don’t have the equipment here to test for that.”

“How do you fix those?” asked Eloise. “Whatever they are.” Neville didn’t have an answer to that.

“I doubt the Americans are going to go for an enhanced Obliviation resolution,” Daphne said. She waved her article in the air pointedly.

“We figured as much,” Neville said. “I asked Draco if he thought his family in Massachusetts had any connections, and he’s going to look into it.”

“Malfoy has family in America?!” Harry asked Ron under his breath.

Ron shrugged. “Probably. The Malfoys like to branch out. Hedge their bets, you know?”

“We’re about out of time,” said Orkney, reluctantly. “Let’s all dig a little deeper into Neville’s article. For homework, I want everyone to study up on the United Magical Nations – what resolutions has Britain brought forward in the last twenty years? How did the UMN respond? Give me six inches on what you find.”

“We haven’t gone all the way round yet,” said Mandy Brocklehurst.

“Lucky for those of you in the back who forgot the assignment then, eh?” said Orkney. “You can leave your articles on my desk or bring them in with you on Wednesday, with your essay.”

They started packing up, most with more enthusiasm than Mandy. Harry wasn’t one of them; his body was loaded with adrenaline – this was really fucking scary, to be quite honest. He just kept thinking about having to go back to the Muggle world because his magic had disappeared, having to live with the Dursleys.

Nah, they wouldn’t let him come back; he’d have to get a job and a flat and do it without any Muggle skills or certifications or money.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ernie Macmillan, Eloise Midgen, and Megan Jones – all Gryffindors, née Hufflepuff – look at one another at once, and their eyes said many things Harry couldn’t translate. Then all three of them looked to Neville, and he glanced at them and nodded once. He half-turned to Malfoy, then changed his mind and pulled the drawstring on his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and left the classroom. The Gryffindors filed out of the room. Ron scooped the last of his parchment into his book bag and let out a long sigh.

“This is fucking terrible,” he said under his breath. "We'll never get a break."

Harry nodded, but he was still thinking about how much he really didn’t want the magical world to die. He had a low-grade horror simmering right under his skin, and he felt like this was a dream, that it was even worse than Voldemort. And Ron didn’t have the energy to deal, and even Orkney seemed to think that if they acted like it wasn't a problem, then there wouldn't be a problem. Harry wished he could do the same. He couldn't.

What if they didn’t figure this thing out? What if they couldn’t?

But maybe the old Hufflepuffs had. Maybe those looks that passed between them said that they saw the end-game. Harry really wanted to know what they’d been thinking a moment ago.

“Gotta go,” said Ron. “I’ve got Charms with Ravenclaw, and you know what Hermione’ll say if I’m late. Sit with us at supper, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, but his mind was elsewhere. He wished he knew how fight this. He wished he knew why the Hufflepuffs weren't afraid of Malfoy.


	3. The Tolerance of Hufflepuff

_Magical Ritual for Dunderheads_ was not the most detailed of resources, but Harry didn’t need that just yet. And besides, it was all he had to hand; he’d checked it out in sixth year for a homework assignment and forgotten to return it.

Right now, he just wanted to know more about this thing Neville had said the old druids did. There wasn’t much in there, but he did find a segment on ‘magic tethers’. It sounded like a similar thing to what Neville had described, but on a much smaller scale. Significantly smaller in fact:

_‘The wizard who desires to tether some amount of magic to his homestead should take care to limit how much he decides on, for if the house is ever destroyed by natural or manufactured means, the magic will disperse into the air instead of returning to whence it came. Given the Earth’s constant rotation within such magical atmosphere, one can never tell where it will resettle.’_

That passage made the hair on his arms stand on end, his fight or flight response kicking in when he could do neither. Is that how they’d all lose their magic? It would just float away? Would they have to move to Iceland to cast spells, or would they lose their ability entirely? He needed more information. He needed Hermione.

She wasn’t at the Ravenclaw table at lunch or dinner so the only other place he knew to look for her was the library. Thankfully, she didn’t disappoint. She was at a table full of Ravenclaws, but she saw him come in, and immediately rushed over. Hermione led him into the stacks, by the World Geography section.

“You heard about Neville,” she said, no preamble. He wasn’t at all surprised it had already disseminated to the Ravenclaws. They probably knew last night, probably investigated when Nev and Professor Sprout ran off.

“Definitely,” said Harry, who wished he hadn’t. “I came to find you about it, actually.”

“I’m helping him with the calculations,” she said. “It’s not looking good.”

Harry felt his heartbeat speed up. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Neville thought there was a rate of four percent decline in magic between last year and this year. It’s actually closer to four-and-a-half percent. I know that seems tiny, but it’s actually a material difference. At this rate of decline – which, fortunately, doesn’t seem to be linear or exponential but instead based on the Arithmantic law of Reverse Triplices Wobble – it means that we will decline another 2.25 percent this year, and 1.125 next year, before reversing again and declining further at a rate of 1.496 and then–”

“That’s a lot,” Harry said, before she could really get going. “So in five years, we’re going to go from one-hundred percent magic to…” he trailed off, adding the numbers up in his head, “something like ninety percent?”

“Not exactly,” said Hermione. “Fortunately it’s cumulative, so it’s 100 percent minus 4.5 and then 95.5 minus 95.5 times 2.25, and so on.”

“That great,” Harry said. Despite what Snape might’ve thought, Harry was not an idiot, and in fact maths came to him quite easily. When it was just the two of them, Hermione knew that she could give him the numbers, and they wouldn’t go entirely over his head. “So we’ll actually have more time to figure this out than we thought.”

Hermione looked pained. “Well, that’s the other thing, Harry,” she said. “Ninety percent of our regional magic wouldn’t mean that our wards and such are only ninety percent effective. That part _is_ exponential. And further, it wouldn’t just be an even distribution. The land naturally wants to renew itself from whatever sources are nearby – us. But our bodies have built-in protections against leeching; our magic would fight very hard to stay in us, and that will tire out the land even more. The least sentient and oldest magics around magical communities would go first… things like the protections around Hogwarts grounds, which were set a thousand years ago, and those around the Ministry, which came only a few hundred years later. The sentient magics, like Hogwarts castle itself, and the newest set magics will be strongest, so at least brooms will keep working.”

“No one wants to fall from the sky,” Harry observed, but it fell flat.

“No one wants Diagon Alley to lose its ability to fit into wizarding space either. Can you imagine what would happen if it sprang out to its equivalent physical size? It would demolish the city of London. A lot of people would die, wizarding and Muggle.”

He hadn’t thought quite that far yet. “Merlin,” he said. “So, when Neville said we’re screwed…”

“He was using too nice a word,” Hermione finished grimly.

“I need to help,” Harry said. “I was looking up rituals–” he held up _Magical Rituals for Dunderheads_ , which caused Hermione to purse her lips “–but it was kind of useless. It did say that tethering magic’s usually only used on little things. That’s what this is, right? Tethering magic?”

“I think so,” Hermione said. “But those books are rubbish. Politicians use them when they want to brush up on something so they sound like they know what they’re talking about, without actually knowing what they’re talking about.”

“I got it for homework,” Harry explained. Hermione looked even less impressed. “Fine – that’s why I was looking for you, actually. I need to know where to look. Help me help.”

“The Ravenclaws are focusing on ritual set-up, to see if we can figure out what variables the ancient druids changed from our modern magic in order to perform such large-scale tethers. Dean’s got some really insightful diagrams showing how ancient runes on certain types of trees could’ve changed the magnitude of spells, but we haven’t sorted it all out yet. Can you look into the Muggle side of things?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She looked around and then walked him even further into the stacks. “I didn’t want to look myself because I know myself and I know how I’ll react to what I’d inevitably find. We need to know what the Muggles have put into the air, water, and soil, and we need to know how those things affect the environment.”

Harry’s eyebrows lifted. “You know Potions is no comparison to chemistry,” he said, “and I’m rubbish at it anyway.”

“We’re all rubbish at this, Harry. I’ve never even studied ritual magic before now. I had to start with _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ – the druid lore is in there, in an appendix. No one is an expert right now; we’re all having to become ones because this is important. You’re no further behind than anyone else.”

She always knew exactly what to say to bring back his confidence. “Right. You’re right. Okay. Chemistry and Muggles and how both are fucking shit up. I’m on it.”

“Try starting with the Alchemy section, over in the Potions stacks,” Hermione said. “You’ll probably have to owl order for the Muggle environment books, but it might give you some ideas on typically mundane chemicals reacting magically in the meantime. I need to go – the Ravenclaws are waiting on me. Catch up this weekend, okay? We can go into Hogsmeade with Ron and grab a bite to eat.” She gave him one last searching look, her lower lip between her teeth in a display of anxiety, and then she smiled at whatever she saw on his face. He watched her hurry back to the table the Ravenclaws were all at, saw her sit down next to Pansy Parkinson, and join back in the table's conversation as if she'd never left it. Hermione would always be a Gryffindor, but she was settling into Ravenclaw so easily, too. How was she doing that? How were she and Pansy and Millicent and Dean and Lavender and Nott and all the rest just getting on so well after a single night? Harry wanted that feeling of comfort with his new house. He wanted that connection.

The Potions section was unsurprisingly always one of the least crowded. Professor Snape’s legacy lived on in the fear, even under a year of Slughorn and now Professor Decant, of Potions. It was kind of sad, actually, because Decant was a right nice bloke – and young and handsome, too, if Harry were asked. It almost got him to take Potions this year. 'Almost' being the key word.

He found the Alchemy section and scanned the shelves for titles that looked relevant enough to what he was looking for and modern enough that he’d be able to understand the text. Despite his enthusiasm, this was not Harry’s forte, and he felt adrift amid the sea of books and unfamiliar terminology. This dedication was not spurred from some long-lost, innate sense of studiousness, but from something much more primal and raw. Where Voldemort had been a monstrous, nightmarish fear, it was something physical he could fight. The prospect of losing his magic was so much more; it was feral, icy, and it stole his breath when he thought on it too long. His determination to help was about survival, about keeping him and his community alive.

He grabbed a book called _The Science of Magic_ and headed back to the den, doing his best to avoid Madam Pince's eye, lest she question him about the book he'd once again failed to return. Harry really wanted to be surrounded by Hufflepuffs right now. He needed their energy, their optimism and weird sarcasm. It would distract him from the fear. Maybe it would show him what Hermione had with the Ravenclaws.

 

 

-x-

The common room was strangely empty when he got back. Only a few younger years spread around the cushions and fireplaces, books and parchment laid out in front of them. Even Luna was gone. Disappointed, he headed down the low-arched hallway that led to the boys’ dorms. The eighth years’ room was at the far end of the cul-de-sac of rooms.

He opened the door and nearly walked straight into Malfoy. They both jumped back, and that was the moment Harry noticed Malfoy was only in a towel, and had his toiletries bag in his free hand.

“Sorry!” Harry said.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. “What for? It isn’t like there’s a window in the door,” he said. “It was statistically likely to happen sooner or later.” Harry said nothing. Slowly, Malfoy said, “Did you not ever run into any of your old roommates?”

“Ahh, yes?” Harry said, thinking back. What a weird conversation. “Maybe, anyway.” Malfoy’s towel was green and gold. It had an oak tree motif, kind of similar to the one in the tapestry in the den common room. Belatedly, he stepped to the side so Malfoy could get through. Malfoy gave him a sardonic little salute as he passed. Harry resolutely did not watch him walk into the bathroom.

The door shut behind Malfoy, and Harry let out a heavy breath. When had he held it?

He slumped down on his bed feeling strangely exhausted, fished _The Science of Magic_ from his bag, and did his best to be useful. There was a chapter on how fire intensified magical spells, and an appendix with a cool spell that could put out fires by separating the elements. That one might be fun to try in the reverse if he ever went camping again, which would be never. He read through a few more pages, into the chapter on physics, and became engrossed in a discussion on how banishing and vanishing spells worked within it.

He was still reading when Malfoy returned, mercifully already re-dressed from his shower. Harry tried not to let his eyes follow Malfoy as he went about putting his things away, and wondered when he’d become unable to keep from looking at the man. He didn’t look all that different from the last time Harry saw him before returning to school, after all. He’d not cut his hair, which was a little odd, but maybe it was a pureblood thing once one came of age. Or maybe, given Harry’s own lack of haircut, and that of many other boys in the school, they were all just feeling lazy after several hard years.

Malfoy glanced over, and Harry caught him reading the title of his book. Did that count as interest? Did that mean Harry could be interested too?

“I didn’t know your family was so spread out,” Harry blurted out.

Malfoy looked over his shoulder, and then returned to unloading his homework from his satchel. “Surely, you didn’t think that a family as old as mine has survived over a thousand years with only one heir per generation?” he said, but there was no bite to it, just casual curiosity. He found his Transfigurations textbook and tossed his bag beside his bed before settling in at his desk.

“I guess I did,” Harry admitted.

“We’re not even the main line,” Malfoy said. “I’m descended from the third child in the original family: Malfidia Tertia – it’s a distaff line, but that really makes no difference, as the main line, from Malfidia Prima, now in California, was also distaff. The second line comes from the first son, second child, Orcus Malfidia, and they’re still in Italy, along with the fourth and seventh lines, but no one really cares about them, as they never RSVP to holiday invitations. The fifth line, from Magus Malfidia, is the one Longbottom mentioned. They’ve been in Massachusetts since the seventeenth century. The patriarch of that one instigated the witch-burnings in a few villages, though, so we don’t even send them holiday invitations. I’m not sure that they’ll bother to reply to my letter requesting assistance with the UMN.”

Harry was gaping at him. He’d already forgotten most of the details, but hearing Malfoy offer so much about himself without prompting was staggering. Was this a Hufflepuff thing?

“Oh,” said Harry.

Malfoy rolled his eyes again. He settled in at his desk and then glanced once more at Harry’s book. “I never took you for the type to read for leisure.”

“I’m not,” Harry admitted. “I was trying to find something on how Muggle chemicals interact with magic.”

Malfoy’s body stiffened. He turned sideways in his chair to face Harry fully. “For Longbottom’s theory?” he asked. Harry nodded. “Have you found anything?”

“Not yet,” Harry said, sighing. “But I have learned a lot of neat things about how magic materialises. Did you know you can measure it with Muggle instruments? I never knew that. Muggles don’t either, apparently. They write it off as static.”

“They would,” Malfoy said. “They always explain away important things.” He turned back to his desk, and added, “But that will probably be to our favour this time...if these bastard Malfoys refuse to help us with the UMN. I just know the Americans are going to be cocksuckers about it.”

Harry snorted. “Those bastard Malfoys?” he repeated, grinning.

Malfoy’s shoulders stiffened. “They came from legitimate marriages, but they have no sense of family honour or loyalty. They might as well be bastards for all the care they have for our heritage.” He angrily pressed a piece of parchment to the desk and snapped a sticking spell at it when it began to roll up. Harry watched him uncap his inkwell without getting a single smudge on his fingers. The way he dipped his quill in was obscenely smooth and mess-free.

“ _Dear Cousin Kyle,_ ” Malfoy began in a mocking voice, eyes on his parchment. And then, “What kind of fucking name is Kyle? – _It has been many years since I had the honour of your acquaintance. I write to you today…_ ”

He trailed off, biting his lip and angrily mouthing words as he wrote. Harry couldn’t help smiling at it. He forgot to return to his book, and ended up watching Malfoy write the entire letter to his relatives in Massachusetts. He felt himself studying the sharp point of Malfoy’s jaw, and how his lip went white when he bit it, but immediately filled with colour again when he let go to mutter more disparaging words for his American cousin.

“ _I hope the urgency of my request is apparent_ – if it isn’t, you’re a fucking moron,” Malfoy added under his breath, and Harry couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing.

Malfoy looked over his shoulder at him, eyes narrowed. Harry laughed even harder, feeling his face get hot and his eyes watering.

“Scarface?” asked Malfoy, cautiously.

Harry shook his head, still chuckling. “You’re just such an arsehole, Malfoy. It’s hilarious. When it’s not directed at me or my friends, anyway.”

Malfoy’s smirk came slowly, but when it did, it made Harry’s chest clench in the most uncomfortable way. “I am known for my biting wit,” he said loftily, returning to his closing.

Harry chuckled again, and shook his head. “The bite I can attest to.”

Malfoy’s smirk grew; Harry watched it blossom in profile. “Not yet you can’t,” he said.

Harry stared at the back of his head for several long moments, feeling his insides rush with blood, and wondering what, exactly, Malfoy had meant by that. He didn’t get any more reading done in _The Science of Magic_ that day.

 

 

-x-

Harry’s life continued. It didn’t continue in any manner that he’d previously anticipated, but it did continue. Really, that was more than he would’ve expected at one point, and so while he dearly missed his life in Gryffindor, he accepted Hufflepuff as a fate better than eternity in a train station with Dumbledore.

Since that moment in their dorm, he and Malfoy had begun to talk sometimes, probably the result of now sleeping three feet apart and sharing almost all their classes. It was a confusing acquaintance, probably much like Malfoy’s with his cousin Kyle. Some days it felt natural, as if they’d been friends forever, and some days it felt like the skin of a deep gash, trying to knit itself together across the divide, but unable to reach it. The pieces wanted to work, but the cut was so clean there was little to grasp onto.

Malfoy had been immediately accepted into Hufflepuff after crawling through the barrel, and that was something Harry still struggled to comprehend. They even seemed to appreciate his sarcasm. Was their capacity for forgiveness and trust really that great? It wasn’t even that Malfoy had changed, for he seemed largely to be the same prick he’d always been (which the Hufflepuffs now found funny), only this time, his loyalty had shifted: he was, from the outset, deeply loyal to Hufflepuff, and that was even harder for Harry to understand.

Malfoy never disparaged other Hufflepuffs, current or former, outside of the Sett, and he never talked badly of Muggleborns. How could he have when Justin Finch-Fletchley and Mandy Brocklehurst were Muggleborn? It would’ve been against Hufflepuff values, which Malfoy, oddly enough, cared about. But other than that – yes, very much a prick. He and Ron still sniped at one another frequently whenever Hufflepuff and Gryffindor had a class together. He still called Harry ‘Scarface’ (within their dorm room).

But of all these confusing things, the most confusing of all was that Harry sort of _liked_ Malfoy now. He was obscenely rude and perfectly polite, he was loose and meticulous, he was angry and he was happy, and when he laughed, he looked _real_.

Harry supposed it marked his transition to Real Hufflepuff if he was beginning to appreciate the finer points of dry humour, of which there was an abundance in his new House. Merlin, they were all _so odd_. How was it that soft, sweet little Hufflepuffs could tell you they’d be your friend forever one moment, and then break out into cackles the next, when Malfoy made a joke about Professor Trelawney’s hair resembling one of the plants climbing the common room wall?

Harry was probably developing a little bit of a crush, but it wasn’t anything he’d never experienced before (read: Cho, Cedric, Ginny, and Galvin Gudgeon – all Seekers, incidentally). Galvin was an embarrassment to the Chudley Cannons and Seekers in general, but Harry nevertheless maintained an awkward and uncomfortable crush on him for three years, as he was handsome in a huge failure sort of way. Even this shameful period of his life passed, so he was confident that this thing for Malfoy would likewise. It was just a Seeker thing. And perhaps a snark thing. In the meantime, watching Malfoy smile angelically in the classroom only to return to the Sett and annoyedly recount his entire day in biting anecdotes made the worry over their magic feel so much further away.

Sometimes, old Hufflepuffs would show up in the Sett. Harry learned that the giant chessboard on the floor was meant to be played by the entire House, not by two students alone. He was roped into being the knight in a game between Malfoy and Ernie Macmillan’s little brother, Alick, who’d been re-sorted Slytherin, and was also Head Boy. Malfoy’s team won, and Harry had still been standing on the board when it happened. It was the closest he ever came to being useful in chess.

He never had got around to telling Ron about the board, and now it felt too secret, like it was a detail meant to stay in Hufflepuff. He couldn’t bring himself to betray that, meaningless as a single chess board was. It seemed that in Hufflepuff loyalty grew and grew, without one ever having to contemplate how.

 

 

-x-

He, Ron, and Hermione managed a few hours together at Hogsmeade that weekend, but all of them were a little distracted by the current goings-on in the outside world. Even Ron, who tried to pretend like he wasn’t scared, was affected by the generally dampened atmosphere hanging over the wizarding world.

The papers had come out that morning with a front-page story on Neville’s theory. It had been vetted and leaked – on purpose. This was not the sort of thing that academics or Ministry workers could get away with just proclaiming matter-of-factly. Such was the distrust of the Ministry lately that there had to be some degree of conspiracy to it, some hint that the Ministry had not wanted to “burden the people” with this terrible knowledge, in order for the people to actually believe it.

“Wonder why Shacklebolt even bothers telling everyone,” Ron said over his butterbeer. “Why not let them go on with their lives without being scared?”

“They have the right to know,” Harry said. He sure as fuck would’ve wanted to know.

“Maybe someone out there can help,” Hermione added. “You never do know what hidden skills people have.”

Harry’s hidden skills, particularly with the science of magic, had yet to manifest. They returned to the school that day in silence for the first time ever. Hermione ran off to the library to meet her new Ravenclaw friends as soon as they entered the school. Harry almost invited Ron back to the Sett, but then remembered the curse. He wasn’t convinced it was real, but he’d rather test that on Goyle than Ron. And then he remembered that Hufflepuff was the only house not to allow students from other houses in.

He ended up going back to the dungeons alone, stopping briefly by the kitchens to grab a snack. He was once again thinking about the Ministry when he entered the barrels. The homework Orkney set them after Neville’s article kept him busy, but didn't improve his mood. The UMN was a slow moving beast, made up of ambassadors from over one hundred countries and territories. It often took them months to come to a decision on resolutions put forward. They didn’t have months. The magic keeping magical Britain hidden was likely to start flickering and fading within months. It wouldn’t be enough to completely expose them, but it would certainly put a strain on their Obliviators – assuming the UMN would allow them to Obliviate more than UK's annual quota.

Harry settled on a pouf by the fireplace with his cheese and pumpkin seed crackers. Unlike Gryffindor, the Sett was often empty. Hufflepuffs were typically out and about, working on extra projects, taking extra lessons, socialising, or doing homework in the Great Hall with an array of nibblies laid out before them. It didn’t matter the hour, Harry had found that “eating time” never ended in House Hufflepuff. There were always crudités or fruit and cheese platters. He’d gone between classes a few times with Su Li and Sally-Anne Perks, a girl who’d shared a dorm with Hermione in Gryffindor, but had apparently made so little impression on her that Hermione never even mentioned her. But right now, he couldn’t handle the inevitable press of bodies, so he pulled out _The Science of Magic_ and opened to where he had left off.

The barrel door opened not long after and Luna tumbled in, blonde hair flying. “Hello, Harry!” she said. She took the pouf next to him and pulled out a bag of mixed nuts and dried fruit. The Ravenclaw tendency to only eat portable food had yet to leave her. “You look thoughtful.”

“I was thinking about the flowers,” he said. “I’ve been trying to find a way to help.”

“That’s very Hufflepuff of you!” she said excitedly. “I’m glad to see that you’re getting accustomed to our new House. I quite like it here, don’t you?”

He hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I do like it here.”

“Do you know,” Luna said conspiratorially, “I’ve not seen a single nargle in the Sett since we arrived? I believe Hufflepuff may be the only house in the entire school not infected.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s… remarkable,” he said. So no one had stolen her shoes here. He couldn’t help but feel warmed by the knowledge.

Luna nodded, and pressed a dried apricot into her mouth. “Yes, I know.” She chewed thoroughly while staring at him. Harry had long ago got over his discomfort with such weird acts from Luna. “Do you think you’ll save the world again?”

Harry started. Luna continued to stare at him, waiting. Did he? Here he was taking up a belated interest in extracurricular reading, but did he really think he could solve the wizarding world’s problem again, or even be the one to make a breakthrough on it? Especially with research?

Not hardly.

But… he would bet that other people in the school could, and that if he helped them even a little, they could figure this mess out. This wasn’t his battle to lead, but it was another war he intended to fight anyway.

“No,” he said. “But I think we can save it together.”

Luna smiled at him. “Good,” she said. “Gregory Goyle asked me to Hogsmeade and I would be disappointed if it disappeared before we got to go.”

Harry did his best to keep his grin from turning into a grimace. There was no accounting for taste. And he’d been thinking unsuitable thoughts about Malfoy anyway, so he wasn’t one to talk.

“Dried apple?” Luna asked, offering him her bag. He took it, and pushed his plate of cheese and crackers nearer to her. They had dinner together in front of the fire, Luna telling him of her excitement over being asked on a date and what she planned to wear. It kept his mind away from the state of magic, and that was more than Harry could’ve asked for.

The first weeks of September passed thus, in both confusion and acute understanding, in desire and worry, in friendships new and old. Harry didn’t yet know how they would solve this problem, but when he looked around his common room at his new housemates, he never doubted that they would. He was only just learning about them, but he knew already: Hufflepuffs were like that. 

 

-x-

One Friday two weeks after their re-sorting, there was a party in Hufflepuff for all the current and former badgers. Harry suspected it was intended to lift spirits, as there hadn’t been any news from the Ministry or Neville and Professor Sprout on the flowers of Britain. Harry saw badgers around the library, looking at books on herbology unrelated to class, and the Ravenclaws who managed to stay in the Great Hall for a full meal often had books on Muggle pollution open next to their plates. Harry’s owl order had come in, and he was steadily making his way through some truly boring texts on the effects of chemicals in Muggle environments. Even the Slytherins and Gryffindors had altered their habits, though in different ways. But that night, they were to forget all of that and enjoy being alive.

It turned out that Hufflepuffs were excellent event hosts. Someone in the house (or maybe just the house itself) had a hook-up with the kitchens; the butterbeer flowed like water and after enough of them, they were all giggly and wobbly.

Eloise Midgen took up at the piano in the corner and sang all sorts of bawdy songs in a lovely contralto voice. She had tightly curled auburn hair and the pretty translucent-brown, freckled skin that sometimes showed up in mixed children. She looked a lot like Hermione now that her skin had cleared, and he wondered if they were friends at all, if they’d ever chatted about the opera, of which Hermione was a fan, or what it was like to come from multiple cultures and be thrust into yet another.

By the end of the night, even Harry had learned the lyrics, and he was tipsy enough to sing along:

 _Merlin help us,_  
_the Ravenclaws are laissez faire,_  
_and Slytherins try to ensnare,_  
_and Gryffindors have grown a pair,_  
_but they all forget to do their share,_  
_it’s up to Puffs to save us all_

Given that Eloise was wearing Gryffindor robes now, it made it all the funnier to Harry, who was perhaps a _little_ drunk. A very little, as the alcohol content in butterbeer hovered somewhere near two percent.

If Harry had been sober, he would’ve thought it was a fantastic idea to get them all feeling more like they belonged. The other eighth years who’d been sorted with him were mingling, too. Besides Malfoy, Anthony, and Neville, Hufflepuff had also received Su Li, Tracey Davis, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Sally-Anne Perks. He didn’t know all of the seventh years, but Fayth Williams had come from Gryffindor, and there was Luna, of course. He had found it easy to get to know his housemates here, as he hadn’t done in Gryffindor. They really were a unified group here. It wasn’t so hard to be part of a group; he’d just thought it was.

Maybe it was Gryffindor that had made him think that.

Malfoy did not seem at all drunk when he came over to sit next to Harry, but the redness of his eyes belied that.

“What’ve I ever tried to ensnare, I ask you,” Malfoy muttered. “This song is a lie.”

“Gryffindors _do_ typically grow pairs, testicular or ovarian, shortly after their sorting,” Harry offered.

“You would,” said Malfoy, sighing. They sat in a strangely companionable silence for a time, watching the Macmillan brothers regale two cute seventh years with tales of volunteer work for the Royal Society.

“Hear from your cousin yet?” Harry asked stiltedly. He was having a beastly time trying to figure out how to talk to Malfoy, or if he should even bother. On the one hand, he sort of hated Malfoy; but on the other, he didn’t at all. And really, he wasn’t sure if he was trying to talk to Malfoy because they were housemates now and Hufflepuffs liked all their housemates or because he found Malfoy rather fit these days and was in that mental place where one couldn’t stop oneself from trying to make conversation, in the vain hope that it will lead to snogging and perhaps a quick arse-grab.

“Ugh, yes,” Malfoy said, and with just those two words, Harry knew that Malfoy was comfortable here. He would’ve never said ‘ugh’ in public. That Harry knew that so instinctively was like finally being on even-footing again, even if just for a moment. It warmed Harry all the way up. He drank from his butterbeer to cover his smile.

“And?” Harry asked.

“It will require a great sacrifice,” was all Malfoy said.

“So dramatic,” Harry said.

Malfoy eyed him. “You haven’t seen anything yet, Potter,” he said on a grin.

Harry’s stomach flipped. Before he could say anything else, Malfoy continued: “I was reading about magical tethers. Pansy says the Ravenclaws have determined the most likely construction of the ritual diagram the druids used when they first chained magic to the land. Granger said–”

“You were talking to Hermione?” Harry asked.

Malfoy looked annoyed. “It’s hard to avoid, really, if I want to speak to Pansy. Granger’s always with her nowadays, and one can barely get a word in before she opens her bushy mouth.”

Harry cleared his throat pointedly.

“Perhaps her mouth itself isn’t bushy,” Malfoy conceded, “but her hair has certainly not improved with age. Why are you and Weasley such terrible friends to her? Merlin, someone tell that woman that there is a de-frizzing spell.”

“There is?” Harry asked.

“Olwen, give me strength,” Malfoy muttered. The look he gave Harry was distinctly exasperated. “Really, Potter?”

Harry quickly changed the subject, filing the idea of a de-frizzing spell away to tell Ron about, so that he would be the one to suggest it to Hermione and face her wrath (and not Harry). “What was that about the Ravenclaws, though?”

Malfoy’s face said that he knew exactly what Harry was up to, but he allowed the diversion. “I’ve been thinking on the original ritual,” he said. “Perhaps it can be reversed. Since you didn’t know de-frizzing spells existed, I’ll assume your only experience with ritual work is through _Rituals for Dunderheads_ –”

“Hey!”

Malfoy ignored him: “And explain it to you. Rituals are mathematical; they always follow a formula, and there are a set of twelve standard formulas, depending on the type of ritual and the outcome desired. The druids probably used one of three types. If we could figure out which type, and if we had the positioning diagram, we could perhaps reverse the ritual and release the magic.”

Harry liked the idea of that very much, but he’d had a lot of experience with crazy fucked-up magic. It seemed too easy. “Where would the magic go when we released it?” he asked.

Malfoy seemed to deflate. “I don’t know. It could stay put in the area and be renewed naturally, like in other parts of the world.”

“Or?” Harry prompted.

“Or it could disperse into outer space for all I know.”

That was what Harry was afraid of. Maybe _Rituals for Dunderheads_ wasn't so useless after all. “Maybe we should just immigrate to America. There’s plenty of magic there.”

For the first time all night, Malfoy seemed truly happy. He laughed genuinely, a little maniacally; Harry could easily imagine him rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “My dear cousins could host us until we were settled,” he said, grinning widely.

Harry was unsure of what to say. He settled on, “Malfoy, are you aware of the term ‘schadenfreude’?”

Malfoy’s smile, if possible, grew even wider. He slung an arm over Harry’s shoulder and settled in to watch the sixth year girls perform a very salacious group dance. Delta Ashwood had moves that made Harry, briefly, second-guess his Seeker-sexual lifestyle. “My dear Potter,” he said, sighing happily. “It is what I live for.”

Harry had not thought it would ever be so easy to relax with Draco Malfoy’s arm around him. Now that he knew it was, he didn't want it to ever stop.


	4. The Mystery of Hufflepuff

He might’ve had a hangover the next day, but Ernie Macmillan turned out to be both the definition of Hufflepuff and a top notch potioneer. Harry was awoken on Saturday by his bed curtains flying open and Ernie, red and gold tie perfectly knotted even on the weekend, beaming down at him.

“Good morning, Harry,” he said. “It’s going to be a beautiful Saturday today. Quidditch try-outs are this afternoon and while eighth years can’t play for their teams, I’m excited to see my brother and your friend Ginny try out for the Slytherin team. Say, are you still dating her? Only I think Blaise Zabini has been chatting her up lately and I’m pretty sure it’s working.”

“What are you doing in our dorm?” Harry mumbled. He tried to shove his face into his pillow, as Hufflepuff had a surplus of good light (strangely, given its sub-level location) and he could feel a migraine coming on.

“Here, have this,” said Ernie, and pressed a very distinctly coloured vial into his hand. Harry pulled himself to a sitting position.

“Is this…?”

“Hangover potion, yep. Brewed some this morning for the whole house. It’s still hot, so maybe blow on it first?”

Harry uncorked it, blew once, and chugged it before Ernie could warn him further. It burnt his throat going down, but when his sprouting migraine immediately disappeared, he could not be bothered to be upset. “Oh, Merlin, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said.

“No problem, Harry,” Ernie said, and dashed away, letting the curtains fall shut behind him. Harry pulled himself from the bed, feeling quite bright and chipper, and nodded good morning to Malfoy, who’d apparently been first to receive a potion. Ernie was at Neville’s bed, giving him the same spiel and Neville was moaning piteously at the sunlight.

 _Guardian angel, thy name is Hufflepuff,_ Harry thought as he pulled fresh clothes from his trunk.

In the bathrooms, Harry stripped and tossed his pyjamas into the laundry basket for the elves to pick up. In Hufflepuff, he hadn’t yet had to wait for the water to heat up, which significantly improved his mornings. He turned the faucet on and it automatically began spraying cedar-scented water at the perfect temperature and the perfect pressure. In Gryffindor, he’d often suffered through chilly, weak showers – even magic couldn’t save them from the travesty of seventh storey water pressure – but these Hufflepuff showers sprayed sinfully firm jets of water _and_ knew what smells he liked.

And something else strange about them – they were communal. The first morning Harry walked in one end of the bathrooms and ran into Sally-Anne Perks coming in the other, they’d both yelped and run back out again.

 _‘Totally normal,’_ Addolgar Rees had said, as he concentrated on his Charms homework. _‘Hufflepuffs respect one another. We don’t have any problems with peepers... having the bathrooms all together is more efficient.’_

 _‘Peepers,’_ Harry had repeated slowly.

 _‘Yeah,’_ said Addolgar, finally turning to look at him. _‘The toilet stalls are soundproofed and the shower stalls have curtains. Just don’t be a creep. No one in Hufflepuff will creep on you. See? Easy.’_

Easy had not been the word Harry would’ve chosen to describe getting acclimated to girls walking in as he was taking a leak. Fortunately, the urinals had privacy walls on either side, so at least none of them could see his prick. And after a week or so, it’d stopped startling him to have a fourth year girl walk in with a towel around her head or see a gaggle of seventh year girls leaning into the big communal mirrors, applying cosmetic charms to their eyelashes with ninja-like precision.

On this particular gloriously hangover-free Saturday, Harry chose the middle stall as usual, as he liked being equidistant from all escape routes. He was basking in the perfectly heated and scented water when the door from the boys’ side opened and the shower next to him turned on. Lavender, citrus, and frankincense. There was only one Hufflepuff with such a particular shower combination. Harry would like to pretend that he hadn’t noticed Malfoy’s distinctive scent, but being so close to the other man all day now made that a lie. Last night, with Malfoy so close to him, touching him, it had been all Harry could smell. With all the butterbeer and food in the Sett, he'd inhaled nothing but Malfoy, and surely there was something wrong with that.

He felt his body reacting to the presence of Malfoy. Knowing he was next to Harry, that he was naked and wet and covered in delicious scents, made Harry think things he’d rather not. He was not unsettled by the idea of being intimate with other men – and anyway Hufflepuff would surely be the place most tolerant of it – but he was disconcerted by the idea of wanting _Malfoy_ in such a way. In any way, really. This crush seemed to be worsening instead of lessening.

It was just – how had Harry gone seven years without realizing how attracted he was to Malfoy’s face? It was one of the first faces Harry noticed in any room he walked into. Only Ron’s and Hermione’s were more noticeable. Malfoy was not conventionally attractive, but he was striking, with sharp cheekbones and a deadly jawline. His irises were so pale they almost disappeared in certain light, and his mouth was wide with pretty white teeth that weren’t straight – the canines were a little crooked, and pushed in front of his other teeth. But when he smiled, he looked dangerous and approachable all at once, and Harry had always had a thing for danger. He’d just never seen the approachable until recently, when he’d fallen asleep every night facing Malfoy’s bed, hearing his breath even out, learning that he didn’t snore – but of course, why would he? Malfoy had a perfectly good Roman nose and genes selected from very careful breeding.

Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy dating too many people over the years. Maybe he’d been with Pansy for a few months, and there was a period during fifth year when Harry would’ve sworn he’d seen Malfoy kissing Michael Corner after a Ravenclaw match, but Ron and Hermione hadn’t believed him. So Malfoy had been fairly single or fairly discreet over the years. He was fit from Quidditch and had legs for miles and Harry really didn’t think it was ‘fairly single’. Especially now that he was getting to know him.

There was something about Malfoy – something sensual and vibrant. Something that made him Hufflepuff. Something that let him get along with all these badgers and still be Slytherin underneath.

“Potter?”

Harry froze. Were they going to talk about that arm-over-the-shoulder thing from last night? Should Harry have pushed him off? “Yeah?”

There was a pause, the only sound between them the shower sprays hitting tile at their feet. Then Malfoy said, “Are you going to watch your ex-girlfriend try out for the Slytherin team?”

Harry hadn’t really been planning on it, but…maybe he should. Maybe Ginny would appreciate it. Maybe Malfoy would be going.

“Maybe...you?”

“Yes,” said Malfoy. And then, “Hufflepuff has try-outs afterwards. I thought to watch and see how our line-up is looking for the year. If you wanted to come with.”

Harry bit his lip to keep his smile from getting too big. “Yeah, sure.”

He finished showering not long after, dried off and wrapped his towel around his waist. Malfoy’s water shut off, too, and as Harry stepped out, Malfoy pulled his curtain open. Harry jumped back. Malfoy’s chest was as pale as the rest of him, thin and sharply muscled, as if even his muscles were aggressive. Malfoy caught him looking and smirked.

Harry hurried back to their room, grabbed the first pair of pants, jeans and t-shirt that he came to, and shrugged them on. He was fairly sure the shirt was Neville's. It was chilly now, being late September, so he grabbed his cloak, too. He heard Malfoy enter about the point he’d dropped his towel and bent to get his pants on, but refused to acknowledge him. When he turned, Malfoy was dressed, impeccably.

Their dorm was otherwise empty, Neville and Anthony apparently having had places to be.

“Shall we?” Malfoy said.

They walked out to the pitch without speaking. It wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, either. Who would’ve guessed they could walk so far without sniping at one another without the excuse of light alcohol and Hufflepuff friendliness?

They climbed to the top of the Hufflepuff stands and sat at the front. Harry looked over the railing and tried not to get vertigo. Being on a broom a hundred feet up was no problem. Being in the stands always made him a little dizzy. They pulled out their binoculars and watched the Slytherins warming up for a few minutes. Ginny did look really nice in her new house colours. He panned to the Slytherin stands and was annoyed to see Zabini watching her. He watched him for a few moments, frowning, and then Zabini turned to greet someone who’d just arrived. Harry panned over and nearly fell out of the stands.

“Ron?” he said, aghast.

This made Malfoy point his binoculars back to the Slytherin stands. He looked for a few seconds and then laughed. “Zabini, you sly Slytherin,” he said.

“What on earth are they doing together?” Harry asked.

“Watching Weaslette try out, looks like.”

“But...together?” Harry said. He shook his head. “It’s not right.”

“Much like us watching together…?” Malfoy queried.

Harry lowered his binoculars to look at Malfoy. He wanted to take a risk. “I think…” Harry said slowly, “that you and I have something in common, if only we could find it.”

“I think we have a great many things in common, Potter,” said Malfoy.

Harry sighed, glanced back at Ron who was now sat next to Zabini and seemed to be gesturing wildly at the pitch. Zabini was nodding, unconcerned. “Why?” Harry finally asked. “Why Hufflepuff? Why not Ravenclaw? Why not Gryffindor?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Why did you?”

Harry shrugged. He knew what the hat had said, but in truth, he wasn’t sure that anyone could ever really know the full reasoning behind their sorting. He knew he was hard-working, that he was loyal to his friends...but he wasn’t always tolerant, he wasn’t always capable of thinking fairly. There was a lot lacking in his sorting, really.

“I don’t know,” he finally said.

Malfoy hmm’d. “It takes a lot of honesty to see yourself how you truly are. I suppose most of us don’t really understand why we were re-sorted.”

“But you do,” Harry guessed.

Malfoy’s eyes cut to him and then away again. Ginny was flying beautifully, her passes flawless and strong. She passed the Quaffle to Alick Macmillan and he scored. They high-fived, their cheers tinny and softened by distance. Down below, they could hear Ernie cheering for them. “Do you really think I’m honest with myself?”

Harry laughed. “I’d bet you’re more honest with yourself than I am. I’d bet all Slytherins are.”

This surprised Malfoy. He looked quickly back at Harry. “You’re more observant than the average Gryffindor. Maybe you were sorted wrong to begin with.” He turned back to the pitch, lifting his binoculars again and completely missing Harry’s frozen reaction. “You know, there’s a reason that so many Hufflepuffs went to Slytherin, and a fair number of us came here.”

Harry swallowed again. “Why’s that?”

“Can’t you figure it out?” asked Malfoy.

It took Harry a while to answer. The Slytherin try-outs ended and they began to clear the pitch. Ginny’s ponytail was caught in the wind; it streamed out behind her like a banner that said she’d once been a Gryffindor, and she was not afraid of anything, least of all being a Slytherin. He loved her, but in that moment, he knew for sure that he couldn't love her like Zabini one day would. And Harry was sure Zabini would – it was impossible to know Ginny and not.

“Not yet,” Harry said. He felt a nostalgic piece of himself break off in that moment. The new flesh it left exposed was delicate and un-calloused, but it wasn't damaged. It left a spot open on him that he could fill or leave as it was. He thought maybe he'd one day like to fill it with Malfoy. He thought Malfoy might fit it well. Harry would know it when it happened.

Malfoy smiled. “You will,” he said.

Harry knew he would. And when he did, he was sure that open spot in his heart would be shaped like Malfoy – this Malfoy, the one who sat next to him and was so utterly untouchable and approachable all at once. The one who was beautiful in his philosophy instead of ugly in his hatred. For now, it was just nice to watch Quidditch with Malfoy, his maybe-friend. He could grow into this feeling; there was no rush between them. They didn't need it.

Hufflepuff entered the pitch. The seventh years were two weeks into their new house colours, but they wore them well. Former Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors, all in black and gold, walking together as a team, even before they were one. He saw himself and Malfoy like that.

 

 

-x-

At dinner on Tuesday , Delta Ashwood leaned over Harry’s shoulder and said, “Meeting tonight. Common room, 10pm. Wear your good cloak and don’t be late.”

Harry didn’t even get a chance to reply before she was gone, slipping into a seat next to her friend, Agafya Parkinson, a cousin of Pansy’s.

“Still ordered around by sixth years,” he muttered, turning back to his meal. The Hufflepuff table had vegetarian shepherd’s pie and grilled chicken cutlets with brown gravy on offer for the evening.

Harry’s attention was momentarily distracted by Malfoy strolling into the Great Hall and sitting only a few seats down and across from Harry. He gave Harry a small, strange smile but was immediately taken into conversation with Addolgar Rees, Neville, and two seventh year former Slytherins, who’d been re-sorted into Hufflepuff. Malfoy was right – there were a lot of them in this house now.

“You see that?” Harry said to Hermione. It was one of the nights she’d stayed to eat dinner with him instead of rushing off with the other Ravenclaws. They usually invited Ron over, too, but he hadn’t shown for dinner yet. Hermione stopped talking and followed his gaze. Her mouth curved into a thoughtful frown.

“Are Malfoy and Neville friends now?”

“They sit together in Defence,” Harry said.

“Do they talk?” she asked. Harry shook his head. “Strange. You know, Harry, I’ve noticed that other houses aren’t like ours, like Gryffindor, I mean.”

“Well duh, Hermione,” Harry said.

“No,” she said. “I mean, not in just the obvious way. Ravenclaws have very...unique personalities...it’s as if we always _need_ to be thinking about something, like we don’t have time for anything but our current fascination. Everything else has to be completed as quickly as possible to make room for what’s important. Even those of us who were just re-sorted have it. It’s like a...instinctual assimilation. The first morning after, I started talking to the eighth year Slytherins about an article I’d read on Polyjuice Potion adjustments, and that brought up second year – in a very roundabout way, of course – and then they all wanted to rush off and try it for themselves. I ran after them to supervise, of course, but Millicent’d already cornered her cat and they’re starting a batch tonight. You really can’t talk a Ravenclaw out of any experiment.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Harry.

Hermione shrugged. “I’ve watched your table at dinners. I wanted to see how you interacted with the other Hufflepuffs – see? I’m already assimilating, ugh.” Hermione shook her head in disgust, but then soldiered on, as any good Gryffindor would: “Hufflepuffs have a distinct personality. It’s a lot like Slytherin, actually.”

“What?” Harry said, turning to stare at her. Malfoy’s words from the weekend came back to him in a rush. He suddenly remembered the way Malfoy had looked in black and gold, how he wore it rather well.

“I’m serious,” she said. As one, they turned to look at the Slytherin table. Harry saw Blaise Zabini chatting Ginny up yet again, but otherwise, nothing looked out of the ordinary.

Hermione said, “See how they huddle?”

 _Oh_. And at that point, yes, Harry did notice.

Unlike the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables who spread out along the full length of their respective tables in cliques and little groups, all of the Slytherins, both old and new, were stuffed into the middle of the table, as tightly packed as they could be, a wall of aloofness and insularity. He looked back to his own table. There was ample space on either end of the table. Even Harry, who had never been Mr Popularity, had Hufflepuffs on every side. There were two third year girls chatting animatedly on one side, a row of rowdy fourth year boys across from him, Neville, Malfoy, and the others further down. The seat Hermione had taken had only come empty after Su Li got up to speak to the new potions professor, Professor Decant, about her assignment. And next to Hermione was full to bursting with re-sorted seventh years, and a couple of first year twins sitting with their big sister and her friends.

“This is really strange,” said Harry. He’d not even noticed the table filling up around him so quickly. And normally, he’d be supremely weirded out by people who weren’t Ron or Hermione getting so close to him.

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Hermione. She glanced up at Headmistress McGonagall at the Head Table, who was deep in conversation with Professor Orkney. “McGonagall must’ve been able to see this all so clearly. She teaches all of us, so she would’ve noticed the trends in her classes. She wasn’t isolated from the other houses like us.”

“She knew we would adapt to our new houses without fighting,” Harry realized. “God, this is so uncomfortable. I would’ve fought. But I stopped fighting as soon as the Hat said Hufflepuff. I was just so afraid of–”

He stopped. Hermione gave him an intrusive look, and he knew that she knew what he’d almost said, but she didn’t say anything. Harry had never been so grateful for her mercy. “You accepted Hufflepuff as your lot and decided to make the best of it, because that’s what Hufflepuffs do.”

Harry swallowed. “That’s it exactly.”

“And I went willingly to Ravenclaw because I wanted to know what it was like.”

“We’ve always been these houses,” Harry said, looking around the Great Hall at the students in their new colours. Malfoy and Neville caught his eye again. Neville he could see in Hufflepuff with him, but, “I can’t figure Malfoy out. What’s he doing here?”

“Me neither,” said Hermione, with some surprise. “Besides the obvious, anyway. But I have a feeling there’s always more to Malfoy than the obvious.”

Harry nodded. “Definitely.” Malfoy was his challenge. “I mean, surface level, he’s hardworking and loyal, if you look at his marks in school and his devotion to his family. But that can’t be all there is to it. Is his work ethic and his loyalty enough to override how incredibly stupid and reckless he is sometimes? Is it more defining than his love of puzzles?”

Hermione gave him an odd look, but it was gone before he could decipher it. “I don’t know, Harry.” She glanced at their food, and added, “Wow, your dinner is very _wholesome_. I’m surprised you’re eating it.”

“Sometimes I go over to Gryffindor afterwards and eat some of theirs, too,” he admitted. They both turned, but Ron still wasn’t there. It was unheard of for him to miss dinner. Come to think of it, the other eighth year boys were missing, too. No doubt something to do with that mysterious project Ron got so twitchy about. Harry tried not to be jealous.

Hermione turned back first, sighing. “I feel like we never see one another anymore. I know that McGonagall’s idea was a good one, and it _has_ worked to stop the inter-house fighting, but...look, your house is leaving all at once – I told you Hufflepuffs are insular!”

Down the table, Delta Ashwood was giving him a pointed look.

“I’ve gotta go,” said Harry.

Hermione grinned at him. “Alright Harry. The Ravenclaws and I wanted to study the flowers more tonight anyway. See you later.”

Harry tossed a wave over his shoulder as he rushed to catch up with his house. He fell into step behind the other eighth years. Malfoy was talking to Sally-Anne Perks, who he couldn’t really remember ever speaking to anyone when she'd been in Gryffindor, but here she was, chatting away with Malfoy of all people.

“I wanted Gryffindor for my mother,” she was saying. “She died when I was young, and all I had of her were pictures of her with me dressed in Gryffindor onesies. And you?”

“My father wanted me in Durmstrang,” said Malfoy.

“And your mother?” said Sally-Anne.

“Britain,” he said. “It didn’t matter to her, but my father promised her if I could sort Slytherin, he’d let me be educated here.”

“We do a lot for our mothers,” Sally-Anne said with a smile.

Malfoy returned it, barely. He was uncomfortable talking to her, Harry could see. But the interesting thing about it was that he didn’t think it was because Sally-Anne had been Gryffindor. He thought it was because Malfoy just didn’t know her very well. It was funny how Malfoy now seemed so comfortable talking to Harry; he had trouble believing that Malfoy could be _shy_.

Suddenly, Sally-Anne looked back and caught Harry’s eye. “And you, Harry? Did you want Gryffindor for your mother?”

For a moment, Harry stumbled over his thoughts. Had she caught him eavesdropping? Was he even eavesdropping? He felt his face heat up. “Er, pardon?”

“I suppose it would be for both your parents, wouldn’t it?” she said. They started down the stairs leading into the dungeons and her Gryffindor side showed through loud and clear as she skipped down the steep steps while looking back at him, waiting for his reply.

Harry nodded. He wanted to tell her to at least hold on to the handrail, but that wasn't something one said to Gryffindors. “Uh, yeah. I...didn’t want to disappoint them.”

She nodded. “That’s always the case, but I think they would’ve been proud no matter what.” Thankfully she turned to look in front of her as the steppes curved around.

“My father wouldn’t have been,” Malfoy muttered.

Sally-Anne gave him a sympathetic look. God, they were all so Hufflepuff. How had he never realized this shit? As they arrived at the stack of barrels leading into the den, Sally-Anne turned back once more, this time holding her hand out to Malfoy.

“We’ve never even formally introduced,” she said on a laugh. “Despite being in the same year and running into one another in the bathrooms. Please don’t call me Sally-Anne. I go by Sally. I did have a few Hufflepuff friends who call me Perky, but they’re in other houses now.”

“I still go by Draco,” he said automatically. They shook and she grinned. She was rather bland looking at any given moment, thus probably contributing to how easily she was overlooked, but when she smiled, her personality was actually evident.

“Good, I was afraid you’d tell me you prefer one of those horrific shortened nicknames given to the heroes in the _Witch Weekly_ fantasy fiction series. You sure you don’t prefer Drake?”

“Don’t make me vomit,” said Malfoy. “You may call me Draco or Malfoy or nothing at all. If the word drake ever streams from your mouth and not in reference to a mallard, I shall hex you.”

“You can’t do that,” she said. “We’re in the same house now.”

“I can and I will,” said Malfoy, no longer uncomfortable whatsoever. “Do remember that I come from Slytherin, where it’s perfectly acceptable to hex a housemate so long as it’s done behind closed doors, and not for the consumption of non-housemates to see or hear of.”

“Sounds a lot like how it’s done here,” said Sally, and ducked inside the barrel.

Maybe Hufflepuff and Slytherin _were_ a lot alike. Ambition and working hard. Insularity and loyalty. Groupthink. Supporting leaders instead of being them. He was starting to get an idea of Malfoy, a look into his motivations. And as a Slytherin, he certainly had those. Harry watched him, watched how his eyes moved and who they looked at, how he focused on one thing at a time, but was aware of everything.

And for Harry, it wasn’t quite the same, but there were similarities. Harry knew how to focus, too. He knew how to obsess.

Malfoy and Harry were the only two still out in the corridor. When they both realized it, they stood there awkwardly for a moment. A part of him wanted to ask Malfoy if he’d fancy getting a pint together next Hogsmeade weekend, or if he wanted to watch the Hufflepuff team practise again. Those things didn’t come out, though. Nothing did; he just stared at Malfoy’s strange eyes and knew that the thing between them that was the same was so close to the surface, if only he could grasp it.

Finally, Harry said, “Can I choose between Malfoy and Draco, too, or was that just for Sally?”

“I think I’ll call her Perky,” Malfoy mused. He was deflecting. He was leaving it up to Harry, not wanting to influence him one way or another. Harry could have what he wanted; he just needed to take.

Hufflepuffs valued fairness; they didn’t take unduly. But they were not falsely modest or unnecessarily declining, either. They accepted what was sincerely offered, if they needed it or wanted it. Harry could try this first name thing; Malfoy had given him permission.

“You can call me Potter or Harry,” he said. “Draco.” The name was much softer on his tongue than he would’ve ever expected. He liked how it felt to say it.

This time, Draco was startled. He looked quickly at Harry, his face perfectly blank. “Oh?”

Harry shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “Sure, it’s just a name.”

Draco frowned. “Names are never just names,” he said. “Don’t you know that?”

“Erm,” said Harry. He shifted to his other foot, only now realizing how weird it was to be alone in a dark corridor, talking to Malfoy. “I guess I do now?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Poor Potter,” he said. “You know so much and yet you know so little.” Deflecting again.

“Hey!” said Harry, but Draco had already ducked into the barrel. Harry scurried in after him, perhaps at too quick a pace, as his forehead hit Draco’s bum and Draco made a scandalized squeak.

“Watch it, Potter, you perv!” Draco called back.

“You said I don’t know anything!” Harry said in defence.

“And that gives you the right to feel me up in a barrel without so much as an array of cocktails to give me an excuse the next morning?” he asked indignantly.

Harry paused, hunched over in the barrel. It was dark in there so he couldn’t see Malfoy’s bum, much less his face. “The next morning?” he asked slowly.

“Oh honestly!” Draco said, sounding very much like Hermione. He pushed open the other end of the barrel. Light from the common room spilled in, illuminating his profile as he looked back to give Harry a very unimpressed look. And also his bum, which really was… well, it was quite fit, actually. Not too small, not too large, but definitely had a sort of roundness to it. Might’ve been the sort of bum a bloke could grab onto for a while, and…

 _Steady on, Potter,_ Harry thought firmly.

“Next time, follow the unspoken rules and wait for me to open the other end before you start shoving your face in my arse,” Draco muttered, and proceeded to step out the other end of the barrel with full dignity.

Considerably less dignified, Harry stumbled out after him – after taking a moment to adjust himself. The thought of his face in Draco’s arse had been more appealing than he would’ve liked. Crushes were one thing – a thing Harry could deal with. But it had to stay there, a crush. This one still wasn't cooperating.

The clock on the mantle said he had an hour and a half until he had to be back down in the common room in his best cloak... whatever the fuck that was for. But Harry was a Hufflepuff, and as a Hufflepuff, he was willing to go with the flow so long as it didn’t interfere with his social life or mores. Given he had no social life to speak of, and given that he could find no ethical dilemma in changing that up with another cocktail hour with his new housemates, this one apparently outside, he obliged.

He followed Draco into their dorm, where Anthony and Neville were already tucked away – Anthony with a book on British herbs and Neville with the same book. He wondered what Ron was doing. Probably having a game of Exploding Snap with his new friends, of which Gregory Goyle was apparently one. He still hadn’t figured out what that mysterious project on Dean’s bed was.

Neville looked up. “Hey, Harry.”

“Hey, Nev.”

Neville put a finger on his page and let the book fall closed around it. “Hermione said you wanted to help us sort out this mess. She said you got a Muggle science book, to look into the chemicals.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I’m about half through it – there’s some really strange interactions between mundane chemicals and certain types of magic.”

Just this morning, the papers had run an article on a number of strange happenings in some wizarding villages surrounded by a lot of the affected flowers. Muggles were doing double takes as they strolled past, then shaking their heads, it had said. Unspoken: Muggles were seeing these villages for a moment or two; the wards were flickering. The Ministry was putting “all resources” into solving it, which meant they weren’t getting anywhere.

“We got a bunch of samples from around each of the major flowering locations. Soil, water, and air. Took magical readings, too. We need to develop a way to quickly see what the cause and effect of all the chemicals to the flowers and magic in the area. Find anything on that?”

“A regression model to start,” Harry said. “But that’s just Muggle mathematics. Not a big deal. There are some spells in the appendix of this book I checked out that we should be able to use to test what mundane and magical chemicals are present in the samples. I can help.”

Neville nodded. “That’d be great. Then we’d just need to figure out how to test the effects of these chemicals on the individual flowers... or maybe we’d need to figure out the effect on atmospheric magic...” He trailed off, his face growing more and more concerned. “Actually – I don’t really know what we’d need to do next,” Neville admitted. “I’m so afraid we’ll figure out what’s causing the die-off, only to then figure out there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“There’s _always_ something,” Harry said firmly. He hadn’t fully believed it until just that moment, but hearing Neville’s own fears, seeing the Gryffindor bravado and just-get-it-done attitude slide off his friend’s face gave him his own bravery back. He wasn’t the only one who was afraid.

Draco snorted, but said nothing. They ignored him.

“You’re right. We need to keep pushing on,” Neville said. “The solution will present itself as we understand the situation better.”

“Right,” Harry said. Although he wasn’t sure he believed this part.

Neville looked relieved. He hesitated for a moment and then said, “Hey, Harry? I just want to say… I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t know where you’d get sorted, but Hufflepuff suits you.”

Harry was silent for a moment, thinking. He masked it by shuffling through his trunk, on an extended hunt for his ‘best cloak’. He didn’t even have a best cloak, he didn’t think. Maybe he should get one. Did Hufflepuff suit him? Did he feel comfortable here, in this cosy dorm room, with two of the windows facing the setting sun, and sunset light streaming in over his bed quilt and Malfoy’s hair, as he stared into his wardrobe, presumably choosing from a number of ‘best cloaks’?

And then there was Neville, who’d always been a solid friend to him, and who he’d never really noticed until last year, when he found out Neville had kept all his friends safe and in as good of spirits as they could be, and when Neville had utterly destroyed a snake that Harry didn’t stop having nightmares about until a few weeks ago. And Anthony Goldstein, who even now was very carefully licking only the tip of his finger before turning a page, so as not to damage the book. He was ignoring their conversation completely, as only a Ravenclaw could.

And yes, Harry did feel comfortable here. He felt _suited_ here. It was strange to take orders from a pair of sassy sixth years, and it was strange to be without Ron and Hermione, and it was strange to be part of a group and not a one man show – but it was only the third week and he was learning to adapt to it. Just like he was learning to adapt to all this chronic elevated anxiety in his life, since if it wasn’t Voldemort, it was dying magic.

He pulled out his one and only cloak and said, “Thanks, Nev. I think so, too.”

“Oh for Ceridwen’s sake,” Draco muttered. He slammed his wardrobe shut, and turned to face them. “I’ve had enough. Could the two of you be more Hufflepuff?”

“Probably,” said Harry.

“Being Hufflepuff is great,” said Anthony. “You get to read about what you want without anyone judging you for having loads of books on the forgotten princesses of Eastern Europe.” All three of them turned to stare at Anthony. He daintily licked his finger and turned another page, ignoring them.

“Oh, god,” Draco said, his face scrunched. “We’re all dandies, aren’t we? Potter was on my bum in the barrels, and Goldstein likes princess stories, and Longbottom’s always had an eye for me–”

“Don’t hold your breath, Malfoy,” Neville said. “You like to pretend you’re so very cool and superior, but don’t forget _who_ always came looking for _who_ when he was bored of lording over first years at sabbat celebrations.”

Draco huffed and turned back to his wardrobe. “They were _boring_. Don’t read into it.”

“Duh,” said Neville. “Which is why I allowed our temporary ceasefires.”

“Wait,” said Harry. “What are sabbat celebrations?”

Neville waved him off. “It’s like church for Muggles, only it happens every six weeks or so instead of every week. Our families are really religious – which is fairly unusual – and they dragged us along during hols. And when you’re underage, they get very boring because all you can do is sit at the kids table and play Snap while your family has fun getting toasted and sometimes naked.”

Draco’s mouth quirked. “I’m much better at Snap than you.”

“Druidism is not the only wizarding religion,” said Anthony, still reading. He cleared his throat pointedly. “There’s also Jewish mysticism.”

“And a number of others,” Neville agreed, ever the peacekeeper. “But even secular wizards go to these sometimes because magic levels are verifiably stronger on those days; the point was that we had to go to the celebrations eight times a year, and house lines tended to blur when you’ve known one another from these boring things for years already, and your only other company is your grandmother... or in Malfoy’s case, his parents, who were usually off on ‘shamanic journeys.’”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Anyway,” he said.

“And I’m not gay, for you or otherwise,” Neville said. “I’m going to propose to Hannah at Yule.” He turned back to his book. There was the Gryffindor in him – had to get the last word.

“Neither am I,” said Anthony. “I’d find it very fascinating if I were, so don’t even try to give me that boring Shakespeare stuff. The only gay people in this room are you and Harry, and Harry hasn’t even figured it out yet.”

“What?!” said Harry, who actually had.

Anthony finally looked up from his book. He eyed Harry for a moment. “Bisexual, actually. My mistake. Let me know if you want any reading material on it. I have loads from when Michael realized he was and practically bought out Flourish and Blott’s. Somehow in the end of year book return in Ravenclaw, his bisexual books ended up in my trunk and I’m fairly sure he got my biathlon ones.”

“Pardon?” said Harry.

Anthony shrugged. “I like winter sports, and also being better at them than everyone else.”

“I’ve always liked Hannah,” said Draco. “She was with Theo for a while, as I recall.” He gave Neville a sly look, to which Neville rolled his eyes. Draco huffed. “I did like her, actually. She was never afraid of Slytherins and she laughed at my Gryffindor jokes. And now look where she is.”

“Yep,” said Neville. “That’s my girl. Always has had a lot of ambition...mostly to save the planet, though.”

There were a lot of conversations going on at once. Somehow, Harry was following all of them. It was so warm, as if they were all ready to let bygones be bygones, and while it was still fresh, loyalty to one another had already begun to be earned.

“You think that’s what tonight is about?” Draco said, presumably to Neville. He’d turned around, one arm in his cloak, the other still out. “It _is_ the equinox.”

Neville glanced at his wall almanac. “Oh, bollocks, it is, isn’t it?”

Malfoy sighed. “At least we’re of age now. And Hufflepuffs do seem to know how to keep the wine flowing…”

“Naked?” Anthony asked, apparently now interested in the conversation.

“I told you we’re all gay,” Draco muttered. Was it Harry’s imagination or did Draco look right at him when he said that?

“Not gay,” Anthony said, returning to his book. “I just know how these things tend to go. Perhaps I’d be more interested if Hermione Granger had also been sorted Hufflepuff. Legs for miles on that one...”

Harry gave Anthony a horrified look, but no one was paying attention to him.

“Proposing,” Neville reminded Draco.

“I actually am just bi,” Harry said, since no one seemed to ever consult him on things like this.

Three sets of eyes fixed on him.

“You knew!” Anthony said, as if it were an accusation.

Harry shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yeah, of course. I may not’ve yelled it from the head table, but I had to make a decision when choosing wank mags, didn’t I?”

Draco snorted, and returned to his wardrobe. He’d apparently decided on wearing a different cloak.

“So, ah,” Neville said, clearing his throat. “That time you and Seamus – with the linseed oil, I mean – and you said you were going to help him prepare for try-outs… that was…?”

Harry’s face went bright red. “I –”

“Linseed oil?! Longbottom!” Draco said, horrified. “It’s a drying agent, you twit!” He turned to Harry. “You didn’t really... with the broom polish, did you?”

“God, no!” Harry said. He cleared his throat. “No, we charmed it into rose oil. Obviously.” They’d meant to get coconut, which was slicker, but couldn’t remember the wand movement. Any port in a storm.

“Potter, you slag!” Draco crowed.

“I think I’ll just read for a bit before it’s time to go,” Harry said quickly, and grabbed the first book on his bedside table, which happened to be _Magical Rituals for Dunderheads_ , which he’d _still_ forgotten to return.

At ten ‘til, Anthony put his book down and grabbed his cloak from the end of the bed. It signalled the end of their bickering and without delay, Harry followed suit. In his standard school cloak, he was perhaps the least well-dressed among them, but still respectable enough. The cloak was black, charmed to fit him, and in good repair. There really wasn’t much else needed, he thought, although Anthony did wear his indigo cloak well, and Neville and Malfoy had their family colours in theirs, so they looked quite sharp and Man of the House-ish.

Harry didn’t have a house to be man of so he reckoned his was fine.

He felt fine, too. Certainly much better than he had earlier. Draco was just up ahead, head up and shoulders back as always. It was then that Harry saw the we’re-all-gay diversion for what it was, and he was grateful to Draco for pulling them out of the funk they were heading towards. Like a Slytherin, he’d done it without any of them noticing, not even Goldstein.

Down in the common room, the lights were, for once, all turned down so low that Harry could barely make out the faces of the students already waiting. He could tell right away that the third years and younger had been sent to bed. The fifth and sixth year prefects held lanterns that jostled light gently around the room and their faces as they moved. As the eighth year boys reached the group of assembled Hufflepuffs, the barrel door opened and Justin Finch-Fletchley and Wayne Hopkins, the only two Hufflepuff eighth years now in Ravenclaw, streamed in, each with their own lantern and their cloaks trailing after them. Behind them came three more seventh year former Hufflepuffs in Slytherin robes and two in Gryffindor ones.

They rushed to hug first the prefects, and then, one by one, each of the fourth, fifth, and sixth year Hufflepuffs. Then Justin turned to Draco, who was closest to him.

“Welcome to Hufflepuff, brother,” he said.

Uneasily, Draco replied, “Thanks.”

There was a moment of hesitation, and then Justin, an absolutely-no-question-about-it Muggleborn, hugged Draco, who was perhaps too startled to do anything but return it. Justin released him, beaming, and turned to Sally.

“Welcome to Hufflepuff, sister,” he said.

And it went just like that. Harry got welcome hugs from every former and current Hufflepuff. He learned that two of the three seventh year Slytherins were also cousins of Pansy Parkinson; the third was Ernie Macmillan’s little brother, Alick, the Head Boy.

The barrel door opened again and more Slytherin and Gryffindor Hufflepuffs tiptoed in, lanterns lit and shining against their happy faces. Ernie Macmillan hugged his brother, and Eloise Midgen told Harry that she was grateful he’d finally recognised the Hufflepuff in himself, and even Zacharias Smith, the most twatty of all twats, sincerely welcomed him to Hufflepuff upon a hug.

The murmuring of welcoming and reconnecting voices was a low, poignant hum bouncing against the walls of the den. It was warm and soft and it seemed to Harry that all their voices speaking at once created an odd, uplifting sort of harmony. It felt like there was magic in it, like it was changing something in the world.

He hugged and hugged and hugged, and when he was sure they’d started on a second round of hugs, Alick Macmillan raised his voice _just barely_ , just enough, and said, “It’s time to go.”

And they all listened to him. The voices trailed off in perfect harmony. As one, the Hufflepuffs left the den, their footsteps measured and confident. Harry was swept along with them, in perfect synchrony without even having to try.

 

 

-x-

They turned towards the Great Hall, but instead of going up the steps, Alick Macmillan tickled the pear in the still-life outside the kitchens. Harry was near the front, with Neville, Draco, and a group of seventh year new-Hufflepuffs, including the Head Girl, former Slytherin Imani Ahmad, who was already fast friends with Luna, and Ginny’s old roommate, Fayth Walliams. He could hear the house-elves working as the door swung inwards, but as soon as Alick stepped inside, the sound stopped. He followed them in, and the house-elves paused, watching them trail through.

They didn’t seem at all concerned about students sneaking through their domain. At the far end of the kitchens, there was another stack of wine barrels. Alick paused and tapped his wand in a rhythm that Harry couldn’t catch, and the lid popped open. The rocky tunnel leading out was dark, but the cool breeze that hit their faces confirmed it led outside.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” said Draco. “This is highly insecure. Our safety in this school rests on the defences of Hufflepuffs.”

“Of which you are one,” Neville said mildly.

“Draco, do speak to the house-elves on the way back,” Delta said, rolling her eyes. “Perhaps you can consult with them on the construction of their impenetrable wards.”

Though Draco tried to hide it, Harry was right next to him, and his pleased smirk was in full force. He did love a good verbal spar.

The tunnel was damp, rough stone-walled, and it seemed to take forever to get through it. Through the gradation of his steps, Harry could tell that they were very slowly rising up as they traversed it. Finally, the light from their lanterns was supplemented by the blue-white glow of moonlight, and he knew they were nearly there.

Draco’s steps faltered as they reached the mouth, and Harry nearly walked into him. His hand went out automatically and fell on Draco’s lower back. He felt Draco inhale sharply and then walk forward again, the moment lost and determinedly not commented on.

Outside, he turned and looked back the way they’d come. The castle was further away than he would’ve thought. He could see the orange glow of torchlights in the windows of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Towers. Up there, Ron and Hermione were getting ready for bed. Once, he would’ve been doing it with them.

There was a break in the edge of the forest, and Alick led them into it. Not far in, there was a circular clearing in the grove. The older Hufflepuffs spread out around it, leaving the fourth, seventh, and eighth years milling in the middle. Harry looked around, unsure. He caught Draco’s eye, standing next to him, and Draco’s mouth tilted up on one side.

“Of age,” Neville whispered slyly on Harry’s other side. Draco’s smirk intensified.

So it was just a little holiday sort of thing, but for magical people. He’d seen the new-agers in the Muggle papers every summer solstice, waiting for the sunrise at Stonehenge. Uncle Vernon had certainly complained about them a lot, and blamed Harry for their existence of course. Harry hadn’t realised this sort of thing spread over to the magical world, but then again, he hadn’t ever even considered that witches and wizards might have a religion anyway. They certainly didn’t have mass on Sundays. Well, at least the Weasleys didn’t.

Although, come to think of it, he had once stumbled on a disused corridor when the staircases caught him off-guard. The plaque had proclaimed it the Magi-theology Wing. And there was a very small church-looking building at the far end of Hogsmeade. Had he heard bells from it? He couldn’t remember, but he supposed that religion amongst wizardkind wasn’t unheard of, just not particularly oft-discussed, like with Muggles.

“Welcome and welcome back, sisters and brothers, to this year’s first gathering of the Order of the Golden Cup,” said Alick Macmillan. “Last year, a test of faith and skill awarded the dual positions of high druid to my sister-in-magic, Emily Abbott, and me. We call this gathering to order. Do any among you challenge our leadership in ritual for the duration of this school year?”

None of the younger Hufflepuffs did, and as someone who had no idea whatsoever what was going on, Harry didn’t either. He stood silent and watched.

Emily said, “On this twenty-third day of September, a holy one for those of us from druidic families, and the magical night of the autumnal equinox for our secular sisters and brothers, we welcome you to this celebration of balance. Tonight is as long as today was. The nights grow longer, and in darkness, we are forced to reflect inward instead of look outward. As Hufflepuffs, we begin each school year reflecting inward, so that by the end of it, we can better focus outward, towards positive change. Regardless of our backgrounds, each year, we come together to initiate change in the world on each of the six high-magic days falling during the school year. The more we work magic together, the more our magic works together. Our strength is in our numbers.”

There numbers _were_ large. With the old Hufflepuffs joining them, there were almost sixty there in the clearing. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the immensity of Hufflepuff – an easily overlooked collection of people, who’d been hiding something this powerful all along. He’d never _looked_. He’d never _seen_ them. Right then, Harry knew that he’d been meant to come here, to see this and experience this.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the chilly highlands air. Next to him, Draco shifted, his hand brushed against Harry’s. Harry shuddered. Their eyes met for a moment, and Harry knew that Draco wouldn’t be joking about stuffy old family obligations anymore. He knew that Draco felt the difference between whatever that had been and whatever this was – it was charged, electrified air. Or maybe that was magic, for surely the other witches and wizards could feel it, and most would not even know what electricity was.

Emily spoke again: “The first meeting of the year is always given to initiating fourth year Hufflepuffs, who have been preparing for this day for three years, into our circle. Our group is called the Order of the Golden Cup – a society that spreads the world over, even into Muggle circles. Our chapter is the original one. We invite those who have just joined our House to watch, as we will invite you to take initiation later this year, should you so wish. For now, welcome to House Hufflepuff. The best house.” There was a cheer from the outer ring of Hufflepuffs. Emily smiled.

Alick then said, “Fourth years and new Hufflepuffs, you have each been sponsored by an initiated Hufflepuff. This member will guide you throughout the year in your own personal journey to become your best self, the person who can give something great to the world, the person you are not yet, but can be. Sponsors, please reveal yourselves to your initiates.”

Harry looked around. Hufflepuffs and former ones were moving to other cloaked figures. Fourth years, huddled in the middle of their group, looked excited and nervous, relieved when they were selected. Justin Finch-Fletchley went and shook Draco’s hand, and Hannah went straight to Neville. Luna was chosen by a Parkinson. Tracey Davis, Mandy Brocklehurst, Su Li, and Sally were all quickly picked. It seemed that no one was coming for him, that he’d been forgotten.

But then someone stepped out of the crowd of cloaks and smiled up at him. Eloise Midgen. She said, “Hello, Harry. Welcome to the Golden Cup.” She reached out for his hand, and on automatic, he took it. Hers was warm despite the chill of the night. Her brown eyes were soft like Hermione’s; it helped settle Harry’s nerves.

“Hey,” he said. His voice caught a little, and he was embarrassed that this event was affecting him so much. It was just a group of Hufflepuffs having a very Hufflepuff sort of party... it shouldn’t feel so momentous to him. But it did. And he was deluding himself; he knew it was more than a little party. He knew this was momentous.

“I chose to sponsor you because I thought you would need someone who understands Gryffindor in order to learn to understand your Hufflepuff side. I know we’ve never really spoken much, but I think we can understand one another, and I think you need that.”

Harry swallowed. “Maybe, yeah.”

She smiled at him. “Gryffindor is a unique house. You have always personified it. I’ll show you how you can grow with Hufflepuff.”

“Sponsors,” called Alick. “Bring forward your initiates.”

Eloise slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow and led him to the centre of the circle. The fourth years stood in the innermost part, as they would go first. Around them, the seventh and eighth years waited.

“Initiate Hufflepuffs,” said Emily. “You have been sorted Hufflepuff because there is a great part of you that values what our founder valued. You proved your worth when you entered our den. In the three years that you’ve resided among us, you have learned Hufflepuff values and grown to respect and love each of your housemates, despite the differences we all have. You have learned tolerance for people who’re different from you, loyalty to your fellow badgers, the value of a cool head in all situations, and tonight, you will see the exponential power of plurality. As I learned in first year, from the Muggleborn girl who’d become my best friend three days later, we are large and we contain multitudes.”

Here, she smiled at another seventh year, who beamed back at her.

Emily continued, “It’s our multitudes that give us our strength. Fourth years, step forward and pledge your allegiance to Hufflepuff, if you are prepared to do so. Remember, the choice is always yours. Should you decline, you will never be punished. You will never be ostracized.”

Not a single fourth year hesitated. They all stepped in front of their sponsors and knelt down. Alick swished his wand and a golden cup popped into being in the air. It looked uncomfortably like the horcrux. Harry tensed, but Eloise squeezed his hand and he felt okay again. The horcrux was gone; it would never return. This was a different cup. 

“As our Order’s founder revealed, the golden cup signifies the world that we must all inhabit together. In the cup, all materials mix together, as we do in our communities. The mead inside it is for you to sip. By sharing one mead, we tell our fellow badgers that we trust them, that we respect them, and that we are one family.”

Alick and Emily drank from the cup and then handed it to the first Hufflepuff’s sponsor. She sipped it and then gave the name of her initiate and why he should be invited to join. She handed him the cup, and he drank, then stated the words to confirm his commitment. The cup was passed around until all of the fourth years had been initiated. They stood, beaming, and joined the outer group. Then it came time for the new Hufflepuffs.

“Since you have only joined Hufflepuff a few weeks ago, it is understood that you will need time to make a decision. Tonight, we offer you the golden cup and ask for no allegiance from you. By offering you the cup, Hufflepuff gives its allegiance to you, and asks for nothing in return. From now until Yule, your sponsors will share the history, the values, and the power of Hufflepuff with you. And in three months’ time, you will be offered the opportunity to join the Order of the Golden Cup. Drink and be welcome.”

The cup went around again. When it got to him, Eloise drank from the cup, and said, “I, Eloise Ezola Midgen, druid of the Cup for four years, do hereby offer for initiation Harry Potter. Though he began Gryffindor, I have seen the love he has for our community, those he knows well and those he knows not at all. He gives selflessly. He is a true Hufflepuff.” She passed the cup to him, and he was startled to find that his hands were shaking when he accepted it from her.

He sipped from the cup, and passed it to Justin. Draco was kneeling next to him. Their knees and hands were inches apart. Draco’s cloak fanned out around him, and one edge touched Harry’s own. Seeing Draco’s pale face illuminated by the light of a nearly full moon, seeing him swallow as Justin drank from the cup, he felt a connection between them he’d never felt before. They were here, doing this, together.

“I, Justin James Finch-Fletchley, druid of the Cup for four years, do hereby offer for initiation Draco Malfoy. Though he began a Slytherin, I have seen his devotion to his family and his struggle to understand his own morals. He has worked diligently on himself. He is a true Hufflepuff.”

Harry inhaled slowly. Justin had seen part of Draco, but he hadn’t seen all of it. Harry was certain that this was not the reason the Hat had given Draco to Hufflepuff. There was more to him than those things. Justin might yet see it one day, but for now, he saw the surface level Hufflepuff parts of Draco, enough only to sponsor him in this. Harry would find the foundation.

At the end, when they’d all been offered up to begin an initiation, the high druids explained that this night was one for thanksgiving, and they gave thanks for the new Hufflepuffs in their grove and those who would come later.

“And now for the celebration of our unity,” said Alick. “We give thanks to the magic that unites us, and we illuminate the things that make us different.”

Alick and Emily joined hands and raised them together. All around them, the circle of initiated Hufflepuffs did the same. Suddenly, light burst from all of their hands and lit up the entire circle. In their clearing of the Forbidden Forest; the light hit branches and refracted against tiny spider webs and leaves.

Harry’s heartbeat intensified; his breath quickened. He spun around, seeing the circle illuminating the trees and sky. Eloise took his hands and laughed happily, spinning him around. He stumbled into Luna, who had flowers in her hair and starlight in her eyes. She kissed him on the cheek and took Draco’s hands to dance him away. Anthony Goldstein looked as awestruck as Harry felt. He stood still as everyone jumped and danced around him. Harry was passed to Fayth Walliams, to Mandy Brocklehurst, to Alick and Ernie, and dozens of people whose names he didn’t even know.

He was dizzy with the charge of magic in the air, with emotions running high all around him. He found himself laughing, delighting in the way light burst forth from his hand just by joining it to another Hufflepuff’s. He hadn’t even needed word or wand, just the knowledge that when he touched another member of his house and intended for there to be light, there would be light.

After some time, the light and the laughter died down, and everyone’s smiles turned inward, towards contemplation. They closed the circle all together, with even Harry and the other uninitiated Hufflepuffs getting to be part of it. The vivid light from before had softened into a warm glow around their joined hands. He’d never felt closer to so many people before in his life.

How had they done this magic?

Late September in the highlands was cool, and the wind coming off of the Black Lake kept a steady flow of chilly air against all their faces. He was glad Ashwood had told him to wear it. Seeing all of these people out here, his new housemates, with the wind pushing their cloaks outwards, away from Hogwarts, he could see their futures beginning: the Hufflepuffs dispersing from their lives here, into the adult world, and yet somehow all still going in the same direction. It was not something he’d ever felt in Gryffindor. And looking around at the other re-sorted seventh and eighth years, he would wager it had not been felt in Ravenclaw or Slytherin, either.

But here they were large. Here they covered the earth, and it made the earth better.


	5. The Tenacity of Hufflepuff

The next day, Harry went to the Ravenclaw table before Hermione could sneak out, and said, “Anthony Goldstein says I’m bisexual.”

“Oh, fantastic,” said Hermione. “I was hoping I wouldn’t have to be the one to tell you. Do you want any reading material? I’ve been saving it up since the Cho Fiasco of Nineteen Ninety-Six.”

“Ugh,” Harry said. “You think I didn’t know? I’ve always known.”

“Really?” said Hermione, intrigued.

“You think _even I_ could miss being attracted to other men?”

Hermione shrugged. “Well you never said, so how should I’ve known?”

“Was it really important?” Harry asked. “I mean, I like women, too. I’d still try with Ginny if she wanted to, but she’s all over Zabini now. It’s only been three weeks!”

They turned to look. “Ginny knows what she likes,” said Hermione. “And anyway, no you wouldn’t. You already tried with Ginny, it didn’t work then, and you don’t repeat things.”

Harry rolled his eyes instead of replying because he didn't want to admit that Hermione was right. 

She gave him a knowing look. “Anyway, I bet you’re thinking it’s important now,” said Hermione. “Otherwise you wouldn’t’ve brought it up, Anthony or not.”

Harry huffed and let his eyes roam back over to his house’s table. There was Draco, sitting with Neville, Luna, Sally, and Mandy crowded around him. Imani and Fayth weren’t far away. Maybe it was just Harry, but he felt unravelled after last night, and as he saw the thoughtful looks on the faces of his fellow new Hufflepuffs, he thought they did, too.

“What’s wrong?” asked Hermione, following his gaze.

For a moment, he considered telling her. But he couldn’t. The Golden Cup had not asked him to keep their secret... but they hadn’t needed to. In no other house could that have been said. But having been a Hufflepuff for less than a month, Harry already knew how tremendous the secret was, how important it was, how integral it was to their – to his – identity. He was a Hufflepuff; it was his secret, too.

He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Just tired.”

Hermione frowned a little. “Harry,” she said. “Is it... is it Malfoy?”

“Is what Malfoy?”

She bit her lip. “The reason that you think what Anthony said is important now. Is it Malfoy?”

Harry followed her gaze to his house’s table. Draco’s eyes were dark and contemplative. He was counting beads on a necklace tucked half into his robes, his thumb and two fingers moving gracefully from bead to bead. His breakfast was untouched in front of him.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “It is.”

“You want him,” Hermione said.

Harry hesitated only a moment. “Yeah.”

“What are you –”

“Granger.”

They looked up. A mass of Slytherins in Ravenclaw clothing, Lavender and Dean, were waiting. Justin was with them; he winked at Harry. He would never admit it aloud, but Pansy Parkinson looked markedly better in blue. “Are you ready to go?” she said. “We’re meeting in the library to look at Thomas’ diagrams. We might have something with the flowers.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, coming right now,” Hermione said. She reached across the table to grab two travel-friendly boiled eggs and a lemon muffin and shoved them in her bottomless bag. She kissed Harry on the cheek and said, “Let’s meet this weekend, okay? We can talk.”

Harry nodded, and before he could say goodbye, she and her Ravenclaws were gone. They were always making plans to meet _later_. His, Ron's, and Hermione's lives were diverging and he didn't like it. He didn't think he could do anything about it except hold on as tightly as he could and get through this _thing_. Then they'd be out of school and maybe he'd force them both to take a flat with him so that they didn't drift away from him forever.

Harry sighed. He considered taking some breakfast and running like the Ravenclaws, but he had a strange need to be with his Hufflepuffs today. Just as he stood to return to his house, the post owls swooped in. Hermione’s copy of the _Daily Prophet_ landed in front of him, barely missing a plate of homemade granola bars.

The photo above the fold was huge and in colour. Minister Shacklebolt’s face glared at the camera. He raised his fist and pounded it down once on the table in front of him. Behind him, a row of seated diplomats milled about, speaking to their pages, ignoring the scene in front of them. It repeated. The headline read, _‘United States sanctions Britain over increased use of Obliviation in response to magic-sighting by Muggles due to failing wards, British national flowers continuing to leak magic’._

Harry looked up, seeking his house’s reaction. At Hufflepuff, only Draco had yet opened his paper. His eyes met Harry’s, and right then, Harry knew he saw the path they were on as clearly as Harry did.

 

-x-

Draco was furious.

“How dare they?” he ranted in Orkney’s class, to the stunned, frozen faces of their classmates and professor. “How _dare_ these simple-minded busybodies threaten to sanction _our nation_ over their own ignorant preferences? I subscribed to one of their papers, apparently a big one – _The Washington Wand_ – and already they’ve got a front-page spread detailing how _evil_ and _undemocratic_ we are. Listen to this op ed – front page! –” he reminded them.

Draco snatched a newspaper from his desk and snapped it open. _“The magical kingdom of Britain once again threatens the democracy of the free world with their latest stunt. In response to dwindling magic in Britain, a problem caused by overly romantic pagan acts some six hundred years ago, by their own druids no less, the people of Magical Britain would now like carte blanche to Obliviate Muggles who may or may not have witnessed magic at all. Ambassador to the United Magical Nations, Katelyn Harmon, posed to Minister Shacklebolt the question–”_

Here, Draco affected a terrible falsetto: _“‘Prior to Obliviating Muggles who may or may not have seen failing wards and thus magic, what steps would you take to ensure that they did indeed witness magic and that Obliviation is necessary?’_

_“Minister Shacklebolt’s answer was, ‘We always ask the Muggles to describe what they saw.’_

Falsetto again: _‘“And if the Muggle saw magic,’ Ambassador Harmon continued, ‘What other methods besides Obliviation would you take first? For example, asking for a promise not to tell other Muggles.’_

_“‘We really do not see promises as a valid fix,’ declared Minister Shacklebolt._

_“There you have it, my fellow Americans. We, as a nation, simply cannot allow the Magical Kingdom of Britain to continue running amok. I urge President Rutherford to stand firm on sanctions to Britain if they continue to ignore our warnings. Trade embargoes are the least he can do to stop this travesty. There simply must be another way.”_

Draco threw the paper forcefully onto the desktop and glared around the room, as if daring anyone to say something he wouldn’t like. “Now I won’t force you all to sit through the rest of their subpar paper, but I will say that I of course took a look at their finance and national politics sections, and they have quite enough of their own problems to worry about, and yet here they are, sticking their poorly-bred noses into our business! Let them deal with vanishing magic in _their_ country and you can bet your arse that the President of the Magically United States would send a bill through to Obliviate every Muggle on the face of this planet and all the ones orbiting it in hovercrafts if it even had a _chance_ of helping them!”

“Mr Malfoy,” Orkney said mildly.

“But of course, they’re so concerned with everyone getting a vote in _other_ countries, even the sodding Muggles, and yet they won’t let half their _own_ population vote – I read that, as well. This country is a magical mess, and I, for one, am furious!”

“Apparently,” said Ron.

Draco glared at him. “Do these arseholes really think that we planned to just Obliviate Muggles daily for the rest of forever? Did they really think this was our only plan? It’s a stopgap while we figure out a long-term solution! Obviously!”

“Mr Malfoy, thank you,” Orkney said again. Draco huffed, and sat back down. And another interesting piece of information for the day: he’d chosen to sit next to Harry, not Neville. It was the first time they’d ever sat together by choice. Or as much choice as could be had, considering he hadn’t asked Harry’s permission at all, and Ron had been really annoyed when Draco slipped into the seat next to Harry before he could get to it.

“Full marks for the article,” Orkney continued. “Excellent example of magical community security concerns.”

“Too right,” Draco said.

“Well, it will be hard to top that one,” Orkney said, “but we must soldier on. Who’s next?”

“I’d really like to talk about Draco’s article,” Neville spoke up.

It was strange, but the Hufflepuffs had a thing about calling one another by first names, at least outside of the Sett. It’d never been overtly stated that this was the done thing, but somehow it was obvious enough that even Harry and Draco caught on to it, and they’d been using first names without fail – albeit only within a classroom setting or when no one else could hear them.

Others in the class nodded, and Orkney said, “I think that’s a fine idea. We’ve taken a different approach to magical defence this term, so let’s look at the proposal the Ministry’s put forth to solve the problem Mr Longbottom brought to their attention earlier this month.”

“What proposal?” said Su Li. “They’ve only said they need to Obliviate Muggles in the meantime.”

“Which is perfectly reasonable,” Draco said.

“Within reason,” Harry added.

Draco side-eyed him, but didn’t seem either pleased or displeased with his contribution.

“There needs to be proactive action,” said Neville.

“Oh well done, Neville,” Draco muttered.

“Draco!” Harry and all of the other Hufflepuffs said. Draco’s mouth snapped shut.

“I apologise, Neville,” he said right away, and they all relaxed.

He looked genuinely embarrassed by the slip. Draco had come from a House that didn’t talk shit about fellow housemates outside of the dungeon, to another house that didn’t either. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were more...individualistic houses, and public tiffs and snipe wars were _de rigueur_ , but not in Hufflepuff, and not in Slytherin.

Draco knew better; he must’ve forgotten for a moment that he and Nev were in the same house now.

Ron was giving all of them an odd look.

“Accepted,” Neville said, and cruised right back into his train of thought: “Proactive action was maybe not the best choice of words. But the Ministry’s not done anything to fix the wards. Of course we should get some leeway in order to keep to the Statute of Secrecy – which is, by the way, required by the United Magical Nations anyway so their sanctions are ridiculous – but our first priority should be stopping and eventually reversing the progression of the disease.”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again,” said Daphne, who really was settling into the loudmouthery of Gryffindor quite well. “The Muggles need to stop polluting everything.”

“You have to look at it like this,” said Sally. “Telling Muggles to just stop doing the things that cause pollution would be like telling magical people to stop using Lumos because the blue-spectrum light disrupts our circadian rhythms. We need light sometimes, and it’s the only light spell some people know...if they couldn’t use Lumos, then they’d be stuck in the dark.”

“There are a number of different spells they could learn to light a room,” said Anthony. “If they’d but look it up.”

“That’s true,” said Sally. “And the same with Muggles. They have other options, but getting those other options going is really expensive, and there’s a lot of money changing hands and backroom deals with the politicians and the businessmen who own the polluting machines whose sole purposes are to ensure the better options, the Lumos-alternatives, don’t happen.”

“People disgust me,” said Daphne, and then proceeded to look out the window and ignore the class. Apparently that statement was meant for all people, and not just Muggles. At least she wasn’t prejudiced, Harry thought.

“Well, we could just shut down their machines and force them to use the other options,” Anthony said.

“An interesting idea,” said Professor Orkney. “Unfortunately it violates many international statutes regarding the fair treatment of Muggles. Although, if the Minister keeps getting blocked by the UMN, I wouldn’t be surprised if he declared martial law and did it anyway. The embargoes are going to hurt, but we’ve survived worse as a nation.”

“I’d support it,” Draco muttered.

“I just don’t get why they don’t _care_ ,” Harry added. It was one of the things that he’d never understood, despite spending over half his life with Muggles. “Even ignoring the dying magic, which they don’t even know about, pollution makes them sick and makes the water and air ugly, and they _know_ it. There are options out there that don’t ruin the earth or make people sick, and people fight so hard against it.”

“People do incomprehensible things, Mr Potter,” said Orkney. “It’s unfortunate, but it’s how the world is. Not everyone cares how their actions affect others so long as they themselves are not unduly harmed. That is a sentiment, I’d wager, that escapes you.”

Harry nodded. He was surprised to see Draco nod, too. In fact, all the Hufflepuffs were nodding, even Eloise, Megan, and Ernie on the Gryffindor side. The other Gryffindors looked thoughtful, but hadn’t immediately agreed.

It was a strange feeling to be so in sync with so many other people, but the strangest feeling of all was being synced with Draco. Hermione’s words came back to him. He remembered: _See how they huddle_ , and knew in that moment that it wasn’t a Slytherin defence mechanism – it was an instinct.

Slytherins saved their own. Hufflepuffs saved the world.

Draco was both, and finally Harry was beginning to understand his sorting. Piece by piece it came to him. And now there was this new piece that said Draco believed in saving the world because his people were in it. And Harry was one of those people now.

It didn’t have to be acknowledged; it didn’t have to be obvious. It was just how Hufflepuff was, and he understood that now.

Gryffindors saved the people who needed it. But Draco didn’t need Harry to save him anymore, so he would just have to help save the world. Because Draco was in it.

 

-x-

They had Herbology after lunch, a class Harry appreciated a hundred times more now that he was in Hufflepuff. His common room was full of class projects and clippings Professor Sprout had brought back to her badgers from her many travels, that they’d got to grow in the windowsills and along the walls. He saw the beauty in the plants now, more than just their usefulness as medicines or potion ingredients. He saw the life in them, like he saw the life in Hufflepuff itself.

He didn’t want that to die. It was more than just his own magic he was mourning; he began to mourn also the magic of the world, all these things that could not be replicated without it.

Professor Sprout seemed more worn down these days. She and Neville, and some of the other Hufflepuffs who did particularly well in Herbology, spent many nights up working until the early hours. Last night had been no different.

“Our samples from the magical depletion sites came in this morning,” said Professor Sprout. “And since we’ve just seventh and eighth year Hufflepuffs in this class, I’d like to change the curriculum for the day. We were going to work on harvesting techniques for the mint family, but I think we’d all be better served with a return to third year’s lesson on soil analysis. Shall we?”

No one disagreed. Professor Sprout smiled tiredly. “Alright then. Everyone take a sample and run a full diagnostic. We got a list of chemicals from my colleagues at Oxbridge, but we need a magical analysis, too.”

Harry grabbed a sample labelled “Greater Manchester: Princess Rd - Yew Tree Rd,” and took it back to his workstation. Neville plunked three samples of his own down beside Harry, apparently knowing he’d be much quicker with the analysis than the others, but Professor Sprout called him over just as he was starting, leaving them untested.

Harry poured some of his sample into a sterile dish and set about on the first set of diagnostics, which were meant to test the pH levels in the soil. They were more acidic than he expected, but still within the range where most plants should be able to readily absorb nitrogen and other required chemicals. He wrote it down and kept going. Draco slid into the empty space on Harry’s other side with two samples.

 _Another scholar_ , Harry thought in frustration. Why had he not paid attention in school, again? Now that the safety of his world depended on it, he couldn’t seem to remember.

Harry got through the basic diagnostics and then started on the magical analysis. He incanted the first spell to test magic levels and felt a shock run through his gut. He yelped and jumped back, staring wide-eyed at the soil sample.

“Harry?” said Professor Sprout.

Harry shook his head. “It shocked me, Professor.”

“I beg your pardon?” she said, startled.

“When I did the spell to test the sample’s magic levels. It...it’s like an electric shock, I’m sorry I can’t describe it any better.”

Professor Sprout bustled over, peering down at the lump of soil in his testing dish. She prodded it with her wand. Her eyebrows furrowed further, and then she stood and looked around the greenhouse. “Has anyone else got to this step yet?”

A few people nodded. “I felt something weird,” said Tracey Davis, “but I thought it was the winter salad I had at lunch; I’m not sure I’ve got used to Hufflepuff food yet.”

“What did it feel like?” asked Sprout.

“Like a tug in my stomach,” said Tracey. “I felt a little nauseated, but it passed when I ended the spell, so I didn’t think anything of it.” The other two students who claimed to have felt a strange sensation agreed.

“Jesus, Mary, and Merlin,” Mandy Brocklehurst said. “It’s connecting with our magical cores.” At once, everyone scrambled back from their own samples. Even Luna moved with a greater speed than Harry had ever seen in her.

Professor Sprout had never looked so grim. She snapped stasis spells over every one of the samples, and said, “I don’t want anyone touching these again. If there’s something in the soil creating a conduit to magical cores, we don’t need to do any magic around it. This might be how it’s draining the magic from each of the regions. I’ll figure out what to do with these. For now, everyone go straight to the kitchens and get some hot chocolate to help regenerate any magic you may’ve lost from this experiment.”

She sighed, closed her eyes, her mouth drawn tight. “I am so sorry, Badgers.”

They filed out of the greenhouse, and Professor Sprout still had her head down.


	6. The Inspiration of Hufflepuff

Not a single one of them was willing to ignore a direct order from their Head of House, especially an order that involved mandatory hot chocolate. Professor Sprout must’ve sent word ahead to the house-elves, as there were eighteen hot chocolates with marshmallows waiting on the pass-through window when they got to the kitchens.

Harry was feeling shaken, as were the handful of others who’d reached the magic-level tests in class. They huddled at the far end of the prep table, drinking their hot chocolates silently. Others filled in around them, offering that strange Hufflepuff sort of comfort that they’d all learned in the weeks since their re-sorting. To Harry’s great surprise, Draco pushed in next to him again, his hands wrapped tightly around his own cup, his fingertips whitening with the pressure.

“You a squib now, Potter?” he asked quietly. “Are my dreams finally coming true?” He blocked the rest of Hufflepuff with his back, giving them the illusion of being alone in a room full of people.

Harry breathed a laugh. “Not just yet, Malfoy,” he said. “But in time…”

Draco exhaled heavily. Their bodies were too close together. He sipped his chocolate, not nearly as gracefully as he normally did. “This is completely fucked,” he whispered.

Harry nodded. He couldn’t stop thinking of that feeling he’d got when he cast the spell on the soil. It had felt like he’d been shocked right in his solar plexus and the charge had travelled down, into his bellybutton. The longer he thought about it, the scarier it got. Is that where all his magic was?

“What do our magical cores look like?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. No one’s ever seen them.”

“They aren’t...in our bodies?” Harry asked. “Like another organ?”

Draco’s nose scrunched. “Not hardly. If they were, I’m sure Muggles would’ve started dissecting us long ago.”

Harry sighed. “Both me and Tracey felt it in our stomachs,” he said. “Is it centred there? Is it like a soul?”

“Potter you ask too many questions,” Draco said tiredly. They fell into a silence, sipping on their Ever-Warm chocolates, and then Draco said, “My father always believed it was a network of pathways between our organs and vascular systems – a type of energy that sparked to life because of how other parts of our bodies worked.”

Harry nodded, though that didn’t explain things any further at all. “It felt disgusting,” he whispered. “That shock. It felt like looking at something revolting. The nauseous feeling Tracey had...I bet it was from that.”

Draco shuddered. “Imagine losing _all_ of your magic, instead of just a little bit. Imagine losing so much you couldn't regenerate any of it.”

“I think it would kill us,” Harry said. “I don’t think our bodies would survive it.”

Maybe it was the press of bodies all around them, all trying to get as close to one another as possible, that had them sliding closer together on the bench. Or maybe it was just something between the two of them. But whatever the cause, Draco’s shoulder was then pressed against Harry’s, and the warmth from it did more for replenishing his lost magic than any number of hot chocolates. Harry closed his eyes, and felt it deep in his stomach: the warm, tingling sensation of rejuvenation after magical exhaustion. There was more to magic than the surface, he thought then; maybe emotion was one of those pieces.

 

 

-x-

The new Hufflepuffs and their mentors met Wednesday evenings in the clearing outside the kitchens tunnel. As October arrived, the nights grew colder and colder, and the days, too, were quite chilly. Harry was seriously considering getting one of those fancy thick cloaks at Hogsmeade next weekend. As it was, he was becoming adept at warming charms over his basic school cloak.

The original Hufflepuffs got a bonfire going on these nights, and they would all sit around it, learning the history and lore of Hufflepuff house, drinking butterbeer, and roasting apples over the fire. Since the word about Herbology class got out, there was a marked dullness hanging over the school, but Hufflepuff was Harry’s refuge. When Hermione’s anxiety and Ron’s low-burning anger got to be too much for him, he could retreat to Hufflepuff and he’d find people who knew the risks and kept working, kept optimistic, anyway. That was why these Wednesday meetings were so valuable to him.

More often than not, Harry ended up sitting next to Draco when they met. Justin and Eloise would sit across from them and regale them with stories of growing up in Hufflepuff in between those history lessons, and hearing them would give Harry a certain ache in his chest.

There was no isolation in Hufflepuff. No one was an outsider. No one was ever ostracized.

He wondered what he might’ve been like if he’d had support from his house during the lonely times he spent in school. In second year, in fourth year, and really, there were moments from all the years. He would have loved to have truly felt part of his house, and not just an individual surrounded by dozens of other similarly-tempered individuals.

Draco handed him another apple, and Harry attached a slice to his skewer and stuck it in the fire. He felt like things had changed between them since that moment in the kitchens, like the two of them were closer now than Harry had ever been with anyone else, despite only barely being friends. Or maybe that's just what he wanted. It was becoming harder and harder to differentiate Harry's desire for Draco with the reality of Draco. Maybe they were the same.

They had a small cauldron of caramel – courtesy the house elves, who adored all of Hufflepuff – simmering. It was perfect to dip the warm apple slices in. Their eyes met briefly; Harry was learning the art of communicating without words. It was simpler than he would’ve thought. All it required was paying attention to the people you were with, learning them, letting them learn you. His smile told Draco ‘thank you’, and the softening of Draco’s eyes, beautiful in the firelight, answered him.

“Helga’s family crest was of a badger, which became our mascot. A badger’s often underestimated, because it lives quietly and doesn’t mess with anyone else... but when it’s provoked, it can fight off animals much larger than itself, even wolves. We’re like that,” Eloise said, dipping an apple slice in caramel. She scraped the extra off before it could drip and popped it into her mouth. “The other houses underestimate us, but we don’t lose when one of our own is attacked. It doesn’t matter how big the enemy is; we are bigger.”

“I remember,” Harry said, giving Justin a wry smile. “In second year, when everyone thought I tried to make that snake attack you.”

“It’s an instinctual response,” Eloise said. “We saw a fellow badger in danger, and we closed in to protect him.”

“It’s alright,” Harry said. “It was Draco’s fault anyway.”

“I did as my Head of House bid,” Draco said haughtily. But then added, “But I didn’t count on what an idiot Lockhart was.”

“Interesting fact,” said Justin casually. “Lockhart was a Slytherin.”

“He was not!” Draco said.

Justin nodded smugly. “The whole school was singing that obnoxious diddy: _‘Gilderoy Lockhart, what a duffer, more hair than brains, must be a Puffer.’_ You can bet your arse we checked sources on that. He’s in the 1975-1982 yearbooks, Slytherin, and his hair is just as outrageous. He tried to tell people he was a Ravenclaw, but the yearbooks don't lie.”

Draco curled his lip. “A part of me saw it at the time, but I pushed it away and hoped he’d been educated on the continent.”

They laughed. Eloise said, “That is one thing Hufflepuffs won’t do.”

“What? Hide your head in a cauldron?” Draco asked.

She nodded. “It solves nothing, and it often leads to injustice or having to put more work into something than it needs. Better to just acknowledge the bad things and work to fix them right from the start. It’s just bad sense to think a problem will go away if you ignore it. I suspect you’ve grown out of it yourself – I suspect that’s why you’re here.”

“It was a long process,” Draco agreed. She nodded.

Justin nudged Harry with his shoulder, passed him another apple slice, and said, “And how about you, Harry? That sort of thing is often found in Gryffindors, too.”

Harry stared into the fire, thinking. Did he have that problem? There were times when he’d ignored Hermione’s good advice because he didn’t like it, and certainly a better man would’ve sucked it up with Snape’s Occlumency lessons. Maybe he did. But did he still?

“Yeah,” he said, "But I don't really know if I could do a better job even now."

Draco sipped on his butterbeer and the movement distracted Harry for a moment, but maybe even that was evidence of his problem with the behaviour in question. "How so?"

Harry worried his lip. This was something that preyed on him constantly. He always wondered if he'd wasted part of Snape's life, if he'd made the war worse. He told himself it all turned out fine, but... had it really? So instead of all that, he said, “I used to have a mental connection with Voldemort. In fifth year, I started seeing what Voldemort saw, feeling what he felt. The Headmaster wanted me to take Occlumency lessons from Snape, but I hated Snape and Snape hated me. I went anyway, and the first thing he did was attack me with Legilimency, seeing all of my most intimate, private memories and thoughts. He didn't tell me anything more than ‘clear your mind’ before he did it again. How do I clear my mind? How do I learn Occlumency? It went on like this for an hour, and then there was another session and then another – all the same. I was learning nothing. After one particular session... well, we stopped trying. I always wonder if I should've kept going. Would you have?”

“Absolutely,” Eloise said.

“Without a doubt,” Justin echoed.

Draco just watched him, saying nothing.

“We don’t live in a vacuum,” Eloise said. “That kind of decision wouldn’t have only affected me.”

“The falcon cannot hear the falconer... things fall apart, the centre cannot hold,” Justin added. It was poetry without doubt, but Harry didn’t know it. He tried to think of it as words alone, and not something published that had been dissected a million times already by people better read than him.

“There’s your Eton showing,” Draco said. “Yeats, Justin, really?”

Justin shrugged, grinning. “You know as well as I that a man like you or me can pour his milk in first, but he’ll still remember what he learned in nursery.”

 _The falcon cannot hear the falconer_. Maybe not from distance, but from ignorance. He should’ve listened, Harry realised. _I should have been observant, seen what I needed to see to make the lessons with Snape work. I should’ve studied on my own, asked for help, anything. I was the pin keeping safe the secrets of our side, and I let my pride endanger everyone in the school. The centre didn’t hold. Things fell apart_.

He felt cold. Draco refreshed his warming charm for him, and Harry sent him a grateful look. “I think I’m figuring it out now,” Harry finally said. “Yes, I had that problem, too.”

“But you won’t now,” said Eloise, brushing her auburn hair back from her face. “To know a problem is to half-defeat it.”

“I do okay at defeating things,” Harry said.

“You'll do even better now,” she said. “We are large and we don’t fail for long.”

They really didn’t, he realised. They wouldn’t allow themselves to fail. For anything important, Hufflepuff would always be there to solve the problem, to save the whole and the individual.

They fell into a contemplative quiet, just the sparks from the bonfire, and the more distant murmurs of other Hufflepuffs filling the void. Across from them, Neville and Hannah were leaning back on the grass, staring up at the stars and talking quietly. The others all around them felt so intimate to Harry. Even having their own separate conversations, even having not spoken tonight, he felt like he was with them, part of their conversation. He could still feel all their magics coursing through him, and it made his chest ache a little bit, though he didn’t know why.

 _I’ll never have this with Ron and Hermione,_ he realised suddenly, and maybe that was what gave the ache. _It’s hard to know a person truly when you’ve known others more deeply._ He was devastated by this new understanding, but it was a dull sort of devastation, the kind that came with a terrible news that’d happened too long ago to still be fresh. Had he always, somehow, known this?

Harry bumped his shoulder to Draco’s, thinking a little human interaction would help to bring himself out of his sombre reverie. When Draco looked at him, Harry saw the same discomfort he was feeling in Draco’s reflected gaze. He didn’t know what made him want so badly to comfort Draco, but maybe it was the desire to lessen some of the old devastation he knew Draco must be feeling. This was a happy thing he had with Hufflepuff; it was a beautiful thing. They had to look forward, not backward. They had to save themselves.

“I’ve been thinking about what happened in Herbology,” Harry said. News travelled fast among badgers and both Justin and Eloise already knew all about the eerie class. “That soil sample was absorbing my magic when I used enough on it. The first few steps were little, basic spells, but then when I got to the analysis spell – that one takes a little more power. That means it’s taking magic from the surrounding areas, doesn’t it? Whenever there’s a strong enough magical surge, it activates and absorbs it like a sponge.”

“What would’ve been activating it?” Justin asked. “Landfills have been around for a hundred years. And toxic waste for decades.”

Draco said, not unkindly, “Can’t you guess?”

“You Know Who,” Eloise said suddenly, her eyes widening as the realisation came to her. “The war – all those heavy spells flying around everywhere!”

Harry had not thought that far ahead, but now that it was out there, everything slotted perfectly into place in his head. It had to be Voldemort. Everything was his fault, somehow. “And once it got started, it sort of just… primed it for absorbing even more. Hermione says that it’s continuing, even though there haven’t been any surges there since last summer.”

“That makes a disturbing amount of sense,” Justin said.

Harry nodded. “And I’ve been reading about chemicals and what could be affecting the flowers–”

“Wait a minute,” said Justin. “We should get Hannah in on this. It’s her thing. Hannah!”

Hannah and Neville lifted their heads. Justin gestured for them to come. Hannah rolled her eyes and hefted herself up, turning to give Neville a hand. They came and sat next to Eloise, stealing two apples. “This better be good, Justin,” Neville whispered to him, out of Hannah’s earshot. “We were talking about names we'd like for boys.” They all rolled their eyes. Neville was such a sap.

“Why even wait for Yule?” Justin said under his breath.

“Harry has ideas for the flowers,” Eloise said louder. “Harry, tell them.”

Once, he would’ve felt uncomfortable with this, but not this time. “Those samples came from places where flowers used to grow and then started suddenly dying. I pulled a map and found the place my sample came from. It’s an historic landfill.”

“A what?” asked Draco.

“Muggles don’t have banishing spells for rubbish,” Harry said. “When they need to toss something out, it has to be picked up and taken away. It usually gets taken to a landfill – a spot that’s set aside for burying rubbish.”

Draco, Hannah, and Neville stared aghast.

“They really do that?” asked Neville.

“I’ve never seen that in my Muggle Studies texts!” said Hannah. “How could they leave something like that out? It’s horrible! They bury it? Even… even the bad things? What about plastics and chlorine bleach?”

“Sure, yeah,” said Harry. “Now they put a liner down at the bottom so the nasty stuff can’t leak out, but they used to just dig a hole. The place my sample came from is one of the old ones, without a liner.”

Hannah’s hand flew up to her mouth. “It’s getting everywhere!”

“And it’s eating magic,” Justin said, shuddering.

“What are we going to do?” asked Eloise.

Harry grinned. Finally, there was something he could offer that was valuable instead of just getting everyone down.

“There’s this spell I found,” he said. “It’ll break fire down into its mundane parts. For example, fire is made mostly of carbon dioxide, water vapour, oxygen, and nitrogen. The spell was used in the Bronze Age to stop forest fires – they’d sort out the carbons and the nitrogen, and the oxygen and water vapours would reform themselves into water and air, and it would instantly stop the fire. I bet we could use it for other chemicals, too.”

They looked politely sceptical. “But how could we do an entire nation’s air, land, and water?” asked Eloise. “That spell was for a single forest.”

“We can start with the worst offenders – in theory we’d get big results from that, and eighty percent of our results should come from twenty percent of the places,” said Justin.

Neville looked like he was getting on board. “Eighty percent is nothing to scoff at. But it would be more like a plaster on a wound because we don’t know what’s really causing the problem, only that it’s probably in landfills, smog, water, and the ground.”

“So we’d go landfill by landfill, around Britain,” Justin said. “It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” said Harry. “If the Golden Cup all worked together, we could probably do one landfill per night. Go in, sort the chemicals into better stuff – we’d have to research that, but my first thought is carbon for the soil, lots of water, some oxygen, depends on what we find in the samples. Then we could use a basic rotting spell, like the ones from Potions class, just on a larger scale, to decompose all the organic matter in their trash. It would fertilise the ground, and the water, oxygen, and carbon dioxide released would help the plants grow. We could transplant some trees from the forest and try to get some more daffodils and things growing. That could keep us stabilised until we figured out what the worst chemicals are and how to get them from the soil and water; that’s not as easy as just picking one rubbish dump and sorting it out.”

There was a silence. Hannah was blinking very fast, apparently lost in thought. “Ooh,” she finally said. Neville grinned at her. Then, again, she said, “Ooh, I really like this. Harry! You’re magnificent!”

“Hey!” said Neville. She waved him off.

“What about the Statute, though?” asked Justin. “There’s no way Muggles would miss the disappearance of their landfills... especially more than one.”

“We’re _already_ going to break it,” Draco said sourly. “Because the fucking MUS can’t keep their Yankee noses out of other countries’ affairs.”

Harry nodded. “At least this way some good would come from it, instead of just Muggles seeing weird things. And if they don’t see us doing it, they’ll probably try to explain it away as a natural phenomenon anyway.”

Neville was thoughtful. “I think we should try it at least once, just to see. If it turns out to help the magic levels in the area, I say it’s worth the sacrifice.”

“The sacrifice of our secrecy?” Draco asked archly.

Neville hesitated, but nodded. “I agree with Harry – I think they’ll try to explain it away.”

“They do try, generally,” Justin agreed, but he seemed hesitant, too. Harry knew he was wondering what the Muggles he knew would do – would his aunts and uncles explain it away? His friends back home? Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon surely would try, but deep down, they’d know the truth. Would other Muggles be like them?

“It’s a very big risk,” Draco said reasonably. “We should be very careful. Have you seen what’s going on in their world right now? It’s primed for war all over. We don’t want to be any part of that. We don’t want to be the focus of that war. Especially if our wards fail and we can’t hide from them as easily.”

Harry now hesitated, too. To think of Muggles finding their world, hating them, hurting them... it was horrifying. But not having magic at all… that was worse. And given Draco’s agreeance, however reluctantly, he evidently thought the same.

“We have our work cut out for us,” Hannah said. “Neville, did you get a copy of the list of chemicals from Professor Sprout?”

“Of course,” he said.

She nodded. “Good, we’ll need to see those in order to determine what we can break the molecules down to. Harry can you help us with that? Are there resources we can find to learn about Muggle chemistry?”

“I’ll order some more books for the Sett,” he said.

She beamed. “Now we just need to figure out what chemical is causing the samples to steal atmospheric magic.”

They deflated a little. To do that, they’d probably have to cast spells. None of them wanted to risk their own magic on that experiment.

“There has to be another way,” said Draco. “Besides risking our magic.”

Hannah set her mouth and nodded once. “We’ll find it.”

“Wait,” said Harry. “We can use magical artefacts with regression analyses!”

“How?” asked Justin, who was probably the most likely to have access to higher Muggle math and the internet during summers home.

“I was thinking it before but then completely forgot about it with all of the other… confusion. Regression analysis will show us which chemicals are correlated to magical absorption. We can use magical artefacts with built-in spellwork instead of casting spells on the samples in order to get them to react.”

“Powerful magical artefacts aren’t exactly cheap,” Hannah said.

Harry smirked. “But Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes are. And plenty of those pack a seriously powerful magical punch.”

“The skiving snackboxes!” said Justin, chuckling. “I asked…” he hesitated for only a second before powering on: “I asked Fred and George about them once. They activate with stomach acid, but any acid will do. We could get vinegar from the kitchens.”

"Or the barrels," Hannah said slyly. Draco looked sharply at her, but Harry was lost.

“Acidity levels affect how plants grow,” Neville said. “If we got vinegar on the soil samples, it might affect the results.”

“Hm,” said Justin.

“The Wildifre Whiz-bangs,” said Draco. “They ignite with a code word. We could mount it on the sample, behind a containment spell obviously, and set them off from a distance. If we used the same type of whiz-bang for each sample, it would be simple to measure how much of their magic is absorbed by the sample, and further, it’s a really powerful, sudden blast of magic, so if anything triggers the absorption, those should.”

“Perfect!” said Justin. Harry beamed at Draco. Perhaps it was the light of their bonfire, but it looked as though Draco’s face heated in response.

Hannah added, “Ooh, we’re finally getting somewhere! This is brilliant! I can’t wait to start.”

Eloise said, “We should all learn as much as we can. We don’t want to accidentally create something worse than we started with. And Draco – do you think your Massachusetts relatives are going to help put any pressure on the MUS to relieve the sanctions? Our economy’s already suffering from the tea and broom embargoes. Added stress on the people is really the last thing we need; it’ll make magic go haywire.”

Draco nodded. “Yes, but they’re being quite difficult,” he said. “They’re willing to speak to their state congress people, apparently friends of theirs, but only on the condition that we invite them to the family holiday party this Yule – and their three daughters’ families as well.”

“Well that seems okay,” said Justin.

Draco gave him a flat look. “Who do you think accused Margaret Jones of witchcraft in Boston?”

Their faces pulled in disgust. Even Harry had listened in on that segment of History of Magic. Margaret Jones had been the first person executed for witchcraft in the colonies. The one who’d started it all.

“She was the firstborn of the family at the time, and stood to inherit the family grimoire and other things. Her younger brother didn’t care for that, so he brought charges against her, saying her midwifery and medicines were works of the devil. The family has yet to apologise for that, and so extending invitations to them for it is, as you can well guess, stomach-churning.”

“Your family is fucked up,” Neville said. “And I mean that in the most supportive and inclusive way possible.”

“Yes, and we undertake this great displeasure, to suffer their presence over the Yule log, for the benefit of all wizardkind. Your gratitude is noted.”

“So humble,” Eloise said. “You fit right in.”

"I wasn't sorted for that," Draco said.

“Alright, well it sounds like we have a good starting point,” Justin said. “Now we just need to put the work in.”

They could do that. It would focus their minds from the anxiousness, make them feel productive. It was the only thing they _could_ do.

 

 

-x-

On Thursday morning, Harry woke with a new resolve. Together, the Hufflepuffs could fix this thing; he was certain of it. There were two books on chemistry that he found to be written in a magically-raised friendly language (read: simplistic explanations of natural and synthetic chemicals) and robust enough to give them a thorough understanding – all under 150 pages.

He put an order in for ten each of them through the magical counterpart of Foyles, which had a location on Charing Cross Road near to the Leaky Cauldron. They came on Tuesday, along with Justin’s wholesale order of Basic Blaze Boxes from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, and were immediately checked out by the seventh and eighth years. A few industrious sixth years managed to grab a copy before they ran out.

Harry and the other eighth years were already drawing up maps of the historical and active landfills around Britain, based on what information Justin and Sally could find when they went to Edinburgh and London over the weekend to look at the Muggle public records. And there were _a lot_ of them. The newer ones were more likely to have the really nasty stuff in them, so that was where they would start – even though those were also the most likely to be noticed as missing.

Addolgar Rees caught him outside of Transfigurations. “Walk with me, Harry,” he said. “I’ve been reading that book you ordered, the one on Muggle chemicals.”

Harry nodded. “What did you think?”

“That Muggles are absolutely bonkers,” said Addolgar, still leading him away. Somehow they ended up walking back to the Great Hall, where the communal study-and-snack sessions occurred, instead of down to Hagrid’s hut, where he’d thought to take tea during his free period. “I noticed something, though.”

He stepped over the bench and sat down by the cheese board; Harry followed without thought. “Yeah?”

“These hydrocarbon things – you know there’s like ten of them? – they’re everywhere. They come naturally and artificially, usually as a gas. _And_ listen to this – they’re they most common source of energy for Muggle electricity.”

“Right,” said Harry, who had known most of this from primary school (and Hermione).

Addolgar plated some cheese and cherries for Harry and passed it to him as he talked. Harry was not one to say no to snacks. “Well, I was also reading about how they make plastics, and they start from pretty much the same stuff. It’s all just hydrogen and carbon, in different combinations.”

Harry did not see where this was going.

Addolgar gave him a patient look, and then an impatient one. He sighed. “Harry, what do you think happens when hydrocarbon gases like methane from rotting Muggle waste mix with plastics, like polypropylene, which is liable to chain degradation in heat and UV radiation, like the kind that comes from the Sun?”

Harry scrunched his nose. “When did you become an expert on Muggle chemistry?”

Addolgar sighed, the very picture of long-sufferance. “Harry, what is the point of learning something half-arsedly? That’s a complete waste of time. Now, I know this is difficult for you, having spent your formative years in Gryffindor, but can you please stay with me here?”

Harry immediately straightened his expression. “Go on, go on.”

Addolgar gave him a sceptical look, but ploughed on (after taking a quick sip of coffee and a bite of flax-seed biscotti). “Well I’ll tell you what happens: it forms a free radical!”

“Those are pretty bad,” Harry remembered, from his own Muggle research. “I think, anyway. That means the atom’s unstable.”

“Exactly!” said Addolgar. “And when it’s unstable, it’s likely to look for something to bond to. Meanwhile, we’ve got all these confused electrons swirling about, and that loosens their bonds. Loose electrons are what makes a material a conductor of electricity. It releases all sorts of nasty stuff, too.”

Harry nodded along. He could see this was going somewhere, but he hadn’t seen where yet. “Does it make it susceptible to magical energy, too?” he asked.

For the first time, Addolgar looked pleased with him. “I think so!” he said. “Magical energy’s super similar to electrical energy, just on a different frequency. But I bet, because of the nature of plastics, that instead of becoming a conductor of electricity and magic, the heat and the hydrocarbons turn the plastic into _traps_.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “And when the plastics degrade in the sun, it gets in the soil, and makes the soil a trap for it. The flowers can’t grow because it’s sucking the magic from them, too.”

Addolgar nodded. “I think so.”

“That’s why it shocked me,” Harry breathed. “We have to tell the others.”

“Tonight, at Mentors Meeting,” Addolgar suggested. “All the initiated Hufflepuffs are supposed to come anyway, to help with the whiz-bang experiments.”

“Brill,” said Harry.

Addolgar rushed off. Harry remained at the table, thinking, until sometime later, a hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up to find Professor Sprout smiling down at him.

“You don’t often come to the Great Hall study sessions,” she observed.

“I was talking to Addolgar, Professor,” said Harry.

She smiled. “Mr Rees is well-deserving of his prefect’s badge. He’s always been a go-getter.” Harry nodded. Professor Sprout looked at him for a moment longer, her kind eyes searching his face for something – what, he didn’t know.

“I’m very proud of the man you’ve become, Harry,” she said at last. “You are a great credit to our House.”

Harry blushed. His heart hammered. Had anyone ever told him that before? He felt like he could hug her, and nearly did, until he remembered that she was his Head of House and not Mrs Weasley. He settled for saying, “Thank you, Professor.”

She nodded once, and walked out. The other Hufflepuffs were busy studying, and the rest of the Great Hall was empty. Harry supposed it was about time for that tea with Hagrid. He had a lot to think about.

 

 

-x-

The comment from Professor Sprout was a point of contention for Ron that evening. “What do you mean she said she was proud of the man you’d become?” he asked.

They were camped out on the front steps with a few sandwiches from dinner, waiting for Hermione to join them. They were all doing their best to keep their friendship alive; the house divides made it harder than he would’ve thought. _Imagine what the real world will be like_ , he thought sometimes, when they won’t even be in the same building all day.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I really don’t think it could be any clearer.”

“But pretty much _everyone_ except Malfoy’s become a good man, and I didn’t get a compliment.”

“Goyle?” Harry prompted.

Ron scrunched his nose. “Goyle’s not... terrible.”

Harry’s eyebrows soared. “In what way?”

“Well,” said Ron, scratching the back of his head. “He’s not afraid of anything really. Last month, he turned Mrs Norris into a kelpie and banished her to the Black Lake. And then when Filch questioned us about it, he put on a really convincing show of not even knowing who Mrs Norris was. ‘You have a cat?’ he kept saying. ‘Can I see it? I love cats. Can I pet it?’ and Filch left thinking he was a total moron and never even got round to questioning Michael Corner, which is a good thing because his poker face is shit.”

“What??” Harry said. Was that why Filch had been moping around? “Don’t kelpies need salt water?”

“Don’t worry, she’s fine,” Ron said. “We go down twice a week and feed her the leftover haggis from dinner. She’s got a beau and everything – really flash looking rainbow fish that always comes to the surface with her. Think she’s happier down there, actually. Made friends with the merpeople, Ernie says, and doesn’t have to put up with Filch every day.”

“There you are! Sorry I’m late!” Hermione called, rushing up from behind them. They clamped up. She would be supremely disapproving if she heard about Mrs Norris.

“Brought you a cheese and chutney sandwich,” Ron said. She beamed at him. It was her favourite kind.

“Thanks,” she said. “Gosh, it’s good to see you two.” She bit into her sandwich and smiled at them as she chewed. They rolled their eyes.

“Much better than seeing more of these stupid American ambassadors’ faces,” she said after swallowing, and irritably flung the day’s paper onto the steps in front of them. “I’m beginning to believe that they’re still just bitter about being colonies. Don’t they see that they’re endangering _every_ magical society, not just ours?”

Katelyn Harmon’s smug face was on the front page again. Shacklebolt had gone back to the UMN yet again begging for permission to Obliviate an extra one thousand Muggles for the year on top of their standard annual allowance of six hundred. Yet again, she’d rallied enough allies to block him and furthermore said she’d still block him even if he were only asking for ten extra Obliviations. It was only October, and no matter what magic Muggles saw in UK for the remainder of the year, Britain would have to let them go on their merry ways, with whatever knowledge they’d gained.

Given the state of the heather near Glasgow – near to completely dead – it could be anything. All of magical Scotland could suddenly become visible, and they’d have to just let it happen. The last time they’d come this close to using all their Obliviations for the year was during the first war with Voldemort, and the UMN had granted the extension then.

“Ugh, can we not talk about that for just one bloody evening. It’s all I think about,” Ron said.

Hermione sighed. “Yes, that does sound lovely. Let’s talk about better things. How is Gryffindor without us, Ron? Has it changed much?”

“Nah, not really, just more boring without you two,” Ron said. “The surprising thing is how little it’s changed, actually. Goyle and Corner and Ernie have picked it up like they’ve been here the whole time. We’ve just got the one girl from Slytherin – Daphne – but she’s really funny, actually. I like her. She says the most awful things about the Americans. Lisa Turpin’s been dating Corner since third year apparently, which is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard. Do you remember what we all looked like in third year?”

“My teeth were still unfortunate,” Hermione said, and they nodded, remembering that travesty. “And Ron’s arms and legs were about twice as long as the rest of him.”

“Shut up,” Ron said. “What about Harry? He didn’t even come up to my collarbone that year, _and_ he was scrawny. Thank Merlin you grew,” he added. “I’d be annoyed if I had to spend the rest of my life with a sore neck because my stupid best friend wouldn’t be a mate and grow properly.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry said. “Five ten is respectable.”

“Hermione’s five ten,” Ron said pointedly. This was true. And it was annoying. He glared at both of them.

“Ron, leave him alone,” Hermione said, nudging him with her shoulder. “Harry’s perfectly normal. It isn’t fair to compare him to my family’s obnoxiously tall genes. Tell us about the other girls. Do you know who has my bed?”

Ron nodded. “Megan Jones I think. She’s trying to date Wayne Hopkins, if you can believe Ernie, which I suppose you can since he was a Hufflepuff.”

They all paused to consider that. Wayne Hopkins – all six feet and seventeen or eighteen stone of him – with lovely, dainty Megan Jones.

“And Eloise is in Sally-Anne’s bed,” he continued. “Merlin, she looks great without those spots…”

“Ron has a thing for mixed girls,” Hermione whispered to Harry. Ron didn’t hear, but it was probably true. Even Lavender – and Fleur, too if one counted part-Veela.

“I think we’re going to Hogsmeade to have dinner at the new Tuscan-Malagasy fusion place this Saturday. You both should come. Bring people.”

“Goyle said that place is great,” Ron said. “I really want to try those sundried tomato rice dessert things.”

“That sounds gross as fuck,” said Harry.

Ron didn’t care. “Stick with fish and chips if you like. Meanwhile, Hermione and I will sample all the delicious foods of the world, won’t we, Hermsy?”

“I did hear good things about their lamb-cassava risotto.”

“I would probably try that,” Harry admitted. It was lovely to be with them. He needed them with him always, no matter what houses they were in. He’d even eat weird food to keep them near.

 

 

-x-

Late that evening, as they were heading out for their Mentors Meeting at the forest clearing, Addolgar gave Harry a thumbs-up and rushed off to the dorms to gather the younger years. The meeting that night was short, but they had a mission that night, and it showed in how focused everyone was. Su Li and Anthony were even taking notes.

“If there’s magic in the landfills, then there’s magic left in _Britain_ ,” said Sally. “There’s definitely hope.”

Emily Abbott was referencing a few of the books Harry had ordered for the Sett and her own ritual texts. “So if the ancient druids anchored it to certain species of plant life, but Muggle technology overcame that, that means Muggles created something that was stronger than whatever bond the druids formed.”

“That’s _outstanding_ ,” said Anthony.

“More like terrifying,” Draco muttered.

“Oh hush,” Harry said, nudging him. “You aren’t scared. Admit it. You love a challenge.”

Draco smirked at him from the corner of his eye. “Perhaps I do,” he admitted.

Neville arrived levitating all of the rank-smelling samples from the greenhouses, still safely under Professor Sprout’s containment spells. “Got enough for everyone to have two!” Neville called. “Justin, got the whiz-bangs?”

“Here!” said Justin. He took two out and passed the boxes around their circle.

“We don’t have a lot of time tonight,” Alick said, “so we’re going to have to do what Hufflepuff does best, among many other things Hufflepuff does best: multi-task.”

“I _love_ multi-tasking,” one of the nearby fourth year girls, Katie Parker, said on a happy sigh. Draco gave her a disbelieving look, and she added smartly, “What are you looking at, Draco? Don’t pretend like you don’t mentally write your Potions essays while you Floo-call your mother.”

Draco snorted. He leaned into Harry and whispered, “Would you have ever believed this was Hufflepuff before this year?”

“Never,” said Harry. He inhaled slowly, trying to breathe in more of Draco’s shower-fresh scent without it being too obvious. His skin came alive; he was tingling all over just knowing that Draco was there. “They’re remarkably well-adjusted.”

“More so than any other house, I’d wager,” Draco said. “But don’t tell Pansy I said that.”

“So long as you don’t tell Ron or Hermione that I agreed.”

Neville came around and levitated two samples each in front of Harry and Draco. Harry shuddered. He’d honestly have rather that he never had to interact with these disgusting piles of dirt ever again in his life. But alas, he was a Hufflepuff and therefore required to do things he didn’t necessarily want to do. The whiz-bangs came after. Harry and Draco both selected purple ones.

“Mandy, Wayne, and I have come up with an area-of-effect shield that can take large area measurements of magical energy,” Su Li said. “The whiz-bangs are stated on the package to produce one thousand joules of magical energy each. We should be able to take the differential created when set off inside a sample containment area and from there determine if Addolgar’s theory is sound.”

They all unwrapped their whiz-bangs and carefully set them within their neatly-arranged soil samples. Harry took a dozen steps back and the others followed. He checked his whiz-bang wrappers; his code words were ‘goldfish’ and ‘telephone’.

“Everyone set?” asked Alick. “Whiz-bangs set properly? Everyone double checked for pieces sticking out of the containment spell, right?”

“Right, Alick!” called the fourth years, who were incredibly excited to be taking part in this.

“Good!” said Alick. “On three we’ll set them off. One… two… three!”

Harry had never in his life felt so ridiculous as he did the moment he yelled, “Goldfish-telephone!” at a firework, but his voice was drowned out by a cacophony of other very Muggle words and the resulting explosion was a sight to behold. The sky lit up with a rainbow of colours and sounds. The fireworks themselves were stopped by the walls of Sprout’s spells, but the light escaped and it was beautiful.

“Merlin,” Harry whispered, eyes fixed. The fireworks were still going off, their squeals and whooshes filling the night.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Draco gesture oddly, whispering, “Holy Mother Ceridwen.”

“It’s so pretty,” said the mouthy fourth year girl. Harry could only nod.

Eventually, the whiz-bangs tapered off. The sky echoed with their absence. It seemed to Harry that the Hufflepuffs released a collective breath, as if they were trying to fill the void themselves.

“So,” Su Li said shakily, “we’ll collect the results and run a regression analysis on them – thanks for the book on that, Harry.” He nodded numbly. “We should be able to give you an answer in half an hour.”

The others settled in around the bonfire with marshmallows and popcorn to wait. It was tenser than any of the other times Harry had ever come out here with Hufflepuff. The school year had been marked by impending disaster, but tonight was different; tonight they would find out what the problem was… and if they could continue with their plan for the landfills.

Finally, Mandy said, “Finished,” and every head looked up. She, Wayne, and Su had fifteen of the samples illuminated, and three diagrams floating above them.

“Addolgar was right – some of the samples were creating a magical trap. These are the samples that absorbed the most magic,” said Mandy. “They each absorbed ninety-five percent or more. The others did not absorb magic at all or absorbed very little of it… so little as to be considered negligible.”

“What do they have in common?” asked Eloise.

“This chemical compound,” Wayne replied, and pointed his wand at the diagram. “It’s made of chlorine, oxygen, and hydrogen. It must’ve formed when the plastics decayed, although I don’t know where the chlorine came from.”

“That’s not from plastic,” said Neville. “I recognise that. It’s a Muggle herbicide.”

“So it wasn’t the trap killing the flowers?” asked Draco.

Neville hesitated, but then nodded decisively. “The plastics and hydrocarbons created the magical trap, but the flowers must’ve started dying off because of this compound in the soil. I bet it was carried all over in rainwater and just accumulated over time. The flowers dying would’ve released a lot of magic, which normally would’ve regenerated in their seedlings, but so much would’ve released at once, and then there was the war… well I bet that triggered the trap. It would explain why the samples trapping the most are the ones from rural areas. All the agriculture.”

They digested this. Harry’s mind was a whirlwind. There were so many variables. So many Muggle and magical factors coming together at precisely the right time to start them on this road of disaster.

Mandy, a Muggleborn, was the first to speak. “There’s just so much plastic in the world. So much heat, and it’s getting even warmer. So much methane from the agriculture. The entire world’s primed to suck magic dry, not just Britain. We’re just unlucky enough to go first.”

“Not if Hufflepuff can help it,” Hannah said firmly. “And besides, we aren’t unlucky. We’ve got warning. The rest of the world doesn’t since their magic flows without tethering.”

“What do we do?” asked Harry. “How are we going clean all those landfills if we can’t use magic on them?”

“We have to break the trap,” said Draco.

“Won’t all the magic disperse?” asked Harry. “It could go anywhere. It might leave Britain altogether.”

Draco frowned. “I don’t know.”

That was the problem. None of them did.


	7. The Heart of Hufflepuff

On Saturday evening, just as the sun was beginning to set, they started for Hogsmeade, and their reservation at Lemur Wine, the new fusion restaurant in Hogsmeade. It was a very odd place to put a postmodern restaurant, but they had a free Floo valet, and people were coming in from all over, so it seemed to be doing well regardless. Their group turned out to be much bigger than expected – Anthony had had to write back twice to increase their reservation, and by the second time, they were up to twenty-seven and had to get two tables. Hufflepuffs rolled deep.

Harry found himself between Draco and Eloise, with Hermione, Ron, and Zabini across from them. Ron’s nascent friendship with Zabini was perhaps even more disturbing than the one he was nurturing with Goyle.

“They have a kinship,” Draco whispered to him as the wine was served. Ron and Zabini were currently discussing an essay they were working on for Divination. Together. “The only two of their kind.”

Harry laughed quietly. The two most stubborn bastards in the school, who’d successfully resisted re-sortings. Of course they’d be drawn to one another, of course they’d want to figure the other out. But then there was Goyle, seated next to Zabini, who was doing quite alright carrying on a conversation with Daphne about their Quidditch team’s chances in the league this year (better than average - it was the Bats after all).

Harry ordered the coconut short-ribs with groundnuts, but Draco ordered the lamb-cassava risotto and when their food came out, he desperately wanted to try some. Fortunately, Hermione also ordered it, so he just took some from her plate. She rolled her eyes and stole one of his groundnuts in return. Neither of them were interested in Ron’s sundried tomato thing.

It may’ve been Harry’s imagination, but it looked to him that Hermione was sitting awfully close to Pansy Parkinson again. Hermione's cheeks were a little flushed.

“I may vomit,” Draco said.

“Really?” said Harry. “You wanna switch? I like the cassava thing.”

“No, peasant. Keep your hands on your own plate. I meant Pansy and Granger.”

Harry grimaced. “I was hoping I was reading into things.”

“I thought we were meant to move past that sort of thing, the hiding of heads in cauldrons thing,” Draco observed.

“It’s a hard habit to break,” Harry said. “Especially when it comes to one’s best friend making Ravenclaw eyes at Pansy Parkinson.”

“I reserve the right to the same opinion, in the reverse,” said Draco. “Granger’s hair is far too unruly to be appropriate next to Pansy’s lovely and careful attention to her appearance.”

“You think so?” said Harry. “But by that logic, we’d look inappropriate next to one another, too, and I bet we look great.” He realised at once what he’d said, and his face flamed. What was he thinking? He was letting this crush go way too far. “Er, theoretically, I mean.”

Draco didn’t mock him. But Harry could sense the stiffening of his body next to his own, the shrewd look he was giving Harry. Harry firmly ignored it. “Want to try these short-ribs?” he said. “They’re pretty good.”

“We _are_ inappropriate,” Draco finally said, slowly. Harry felt his body tensing. He was actually going to get publicly humiliated right here, and he’d have to just sit and take it because Hufflepuffs don’t get shirty with one another in public. “But it’s not because of your hair.”

Startled, Harry couldn’t stop himself in time from looking over. “It's not?”

Draco smirked. “No, your hair’s fine now that it has some length to it. Your face on the other hand…”

“Draco,” Harry said warningly, but he was trying not to laugh. “You have to be polite to me in public.”

“I must be polite?” he said in disbelief. “Your glasses are an affront to civilised society.”

Harry laughed, unfortunately it was as he was drinking some wine, and he ended up snorting and coughing at the same time. Ron and Hermione both gave him odd looks, then odd looks to Draco, before both seeming to decide they’d rather not know and returning to their conversations.

“And your cloak!” Draco continued on a whisper. “I had to refresh your warming charm six times this Wednesday. How did you survive the Dark Lord? You’re absolutely helpless.”

“I am not,” Harry said. “I get on just fine.”

“In an unlined wool-blend cloak,” Draco said flatly. “It’s October, it’s Scotland. You need a winter cloak.”

Harry sipped his wine. He was starting to feel rather warm, with or without the winter cloak. “Oh? You seem remarkably invested in my wellbeing.”

“Having to refresh warming charms on a cloak that should have them built in is a waste of magical energy, and as a Hufflepuff, I resent the inefficiency.”

“Riiight,” said Harry. And then, feeling rather more Gryffindor than he had in previous attempts to pull, added, “Want to help me pick one out?”

“You certainly need the help,” Draco muttered. Harry lifted his eyebrows and smiled, waiting. “What, _now_?” he asked, looking around.

Harry shrugged, glanced down the table. Everyone was caught up in their own conversations. Millicent and Lavender had half of the far end engaged in a debate on the effects of werewolf attacks outside the full moon, and the second table seemed to be playing a huge game of gobstones around their dinner plates. “No one will miss us.”

“Their loss,” said Draco, but he was thinking about it. He looked down at his plate, mostly finished, and hesitated. His hands clenched and then quickly unclenched. He looked back up, his expression strange, and nodded. “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

Harry beamed. He fished some coins from his pocket and put them down on the table to pay for his dinner and practically ran from the restaurant, Draco close behind him. The chilly October air hit their faces right away and he shivered in his apparently unlined wool-blend cloak. He’d never even noticed it was unlined. How did one tell wool from wool-blend anyway?

“Merlin I’m glad to be out of there,” said Draco.

“Didn’t like the food?” Harry asked as they settled into an easy walk down the high street.

“Didn’t like the crowd,” said Draco. “Not really my thing.”

Harry thought this over some. “Slytherins are groupy, too. Aren’t you accustomed to being around a lot of people?” Harry sure as hell wasn’t, but he was feeling a little looser from the wine, so it was all fine.

Draco shrugged. “It’s different when you know everyone so well. There were a lot of people there I don’t know well.”

“Oh,” said Harry. He could understand that, the discomfort of being around people you weren’t sure of.

“There’s a place in Diagon that I like to go to for cloaks,” Draco said abruptly, and Harry let him change the subject if he wished it. “Coddler’s. Shall we go there?”

Harry shrugged. There was an illicit sort of thrill to leaving Hogsmeade during school. Students weren’t allowed to do that, but technically, they were of age and could do whatever they wanted. So long as McGonagall never found out.

“Yeah,” he said, feeling his face stretch into a grin.

To his surprise, Draco grabbed his wrist and pulled him into an alley. He looked both ways, and smirked. “Can’t let anyone see us leaving,” he said. He stepped closer, one arm going round Harry’s waist to pull him in. Harry’s breath left him in a rush as their bodies came together. He knew his eyes were wide as he looked into Draco’s, but Draco just smirked again, and then he turned their bodies and the feeling of infiniteness that he always got during Apparition overcame him.

-x-

They landed square in the Apparition Zone in Diagon Alley, just before the bank. It was closed for the evening, but much of the retail stayed open late. Was it just Harry or did Draco take a fraction of a second too long to release him from Side-Along position?

“It’s just this way,” Draco said.

They started down a side street where much of the higher end retailers were located, Harry using the time to gather his wits back to himself. It seemed like they were walking awfully close together. Each time they crossed the yellow glow of a streetlamp against cobblestones, he’d look at Draco’s fingers, at how near to Harry’s own they were.

It was nearly eight when they reached Coddler’s. The sign on the door listed that as their closing time, but the man reading the paper at the till smiled – actually smiled – at Draco as he entered. He folded the paper down and Harry couldn’t help seeing the headline, the same one from that morning, which lamented the MUS refusing a vote to allow Britain to temporarily shut down the factories believed to be causing the magic die-off, as it would unduly harm Muggle lives. Harry supposed it didn’t matter what the UMN did at this point; Obliviations weren’t going to save them and neither was closing factories.

“Hello, Mr Malfoy,” said the man. “I usually don’t see you in so late.”

“We came from Hogwarts,” said Draco, pulling his cloak off. It was warmer here in London, by at least a few degrees C. “My friend needs a winter cloak. Do you have the time?”

Harry tried not to be too pleased with Draco calling him friend. It was well on the way to calling him _boy_ friend. Hoping never hurt anyone... probably. The shopkeeper finally looked at him properly, and to his credit, did not even widen his eyes.

“Of course I do,” he said. “Let’s get you in a room, Mr Potter, and see what we can find to suit.”

Despite not intending to remove any clothing or needing privacy, he was put into a dressing room with mirrors on all sides, a footstool to stand on, and hooks on the door. “I’ll take your cloak and hang it for you,” Coddler said. “Is there a style you like? Any particular enchantments you’re looking for?”

Harry stared at him blankly, then shifted his gaze to Draco, this time desperately. Draco snorted. “He hasn’t a family cloak,” Draco said. “I should think the Potter house colours would be a good place to start, in a traditional cut. Warming charms for sure. What else is popular this season?”

“Well anti-hex weaves, of course,” said Coddler. “And lately, people have been asking for… ah, Muggle repelling spells.”

Draco’s expression flattened, which was something that happened in public when he was inclined to grimace or otherwise make a face and was trying very hard to fight that urge. “Those would be useful.”

Coddler smiled. “I’ll be right back then with some options.”

He shut the door behind him, leaving Harry and Draco alone in the mirrored dressing room. It reflected the warm polished wood floors, the sconces, and the cedar changing bench. Draco turned to the doorframe and seemed to be tracing his finger along something engraved in the wood there.

“I don’t even know the Potter colours,” Harry said.

“Don’t you?” Draco said, turning back to him. “They’re pink and gold.”

“They are not!” Harry said. “The Potters would never.” Draco walked right up to him, smirking in his face.

“They are, I’m afraid. The pink isn’t too horrible, sort of a mauve, really.”

“Draco,” Harry said, laughing. Draco’s face was so close to his, his breath soft against Harry’s mouth. They were terribly close. Closer than they’d ever been before. “Please tell me you aren’t serious.”

Draco smiled slowly. “Alright, fine. They’re green and gold.”

Harry huffed out another laugh. “Much better.”

“Mhm,” said Draco, his eyes moving over Harry’s face. “They’ll match.”

Harry suddenly couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t funny anymore. “Match what?” he said.

Slowly, Draco reached up and pulled Harry’s glasses from his face. He folded the arms and tucked them in his shirt collar. “Your eyes,” he said.

Harry’s heart hammered; he couldn’t breathe, his vision was tunnelling and it wasn’t from astigmatism. How had they got so close? Was Draco fucking with him? Was this a game? Was there something he was missing?

 _Hufflepuffs don’t hide their heads in cauldrons_ , he remembered. Draco knew what he was doing. Draco wasn’t fucking with him. It wasn’t a game. Hufflepuffs didn’t do that. He _meant_ it. The knowledge gave Harry a previously unknown freedom. His Gryffindor reserves were full to bursting after so many weeks in Hufflepuff. He reached out and looped his arm around Draco’s waist, pulled him in the same way Draco had pulled him in to Side-Along. Harry pressed their mouths together and wanted to cry with relief and desire when Draco opened his mouth to him.

It was everything he expected it to be in all those heady fantasies he tried not to have. There was something undeniably Slytherin in how Draco kissed him. His body huddled into Harry’s, trying to make them into one unit. It was something Harry understood now, something he might even have mocked before. But he knew it now, this unbearable need to be a singularity with other people, or with one other person in particular.

They pulled apart slowly, reluctantly. Draco pressed his forehead against Harry’s and looked at him through pale lashes. Harry clung to his biceps, wordless. He had too many thoughts to pare down into sentences or even emotions. There was desire, and yearning, and confusion. There was fear. There was bravery. Draco licked his lip nervously. Harry wanted to –

“I do have a record of the Potter arms,” came Coddler’s voice from just outside the room. They stepped quickly apart just as he entered. “I apologise for the delay, I wanted to be certain I still had the template, and I do.” He held up a sheet of parchment with a crest, verdant, with a golden stag over two crossed wands.

He tacked it to the dressing room wall with an economical sticking spell and then set three cloaks floating before Harry. The first was sleek, slender, with fitted sleeves; the second was fuller, lined in deer-skin and lined with jackalope fur around the hood and hems. The third was similarly lined minus the jackalope fur trim, and had spell-working sleeves.

“All of these have the standard warming and anti-hex spells. I can add the Muggle-repelling charms to any of them. The first is a newer model, the younger set seems to like it, but if you ask me, it does restrict the elbows.”

“Agreed,” said Draco. “Potter needs his elbows.”

“As you say,” Coddler said and upon a nod from Harry, promptly banished the cloak back to its display. “Now we have the standard Head of Family winter cloak here,” he continued, pointing to the second. The jackalope fur can be replaced with mundane rabbit or shearling upon request. Some prefer a kelpie lining on the inside - it does offer extended weatherproofing. The crest could either cover the back, be placed more classically on the chest, or be woven into the interior lining in a blocked pattern. Any option will include the Potter family standard protection spells in the weave, of course.

“The third cloak is the same, minus the trim and with arm slits added in, for easier spell-working. A more… sporting version of the other, if you will. My newest line.”

“I like sporting,” Harry offered. He was certain his face was still flaming, from the heat of Draco’s kiss and the embarrassment of almost being caught. Coddler didn’t seem to notice. He flung measuring tapes all around, noting down Harry’s measurements with a practiced eye each time one of the tapes drew taut. A few taps of his wand and he had it on Harry’s shoulders and pinned up.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Harry studied himself critically in the array of mirrors. The template cloak was grey, but Coddler tapped it and it changed to deep green. Golden embroidery swirled into the hems and around the collar. “It’s nice.”

In truth, it was more than nice. He felt different in this cloak; he felt bigger. It draped heavily over his shoulders but felt light and movable. The mantle was thick and soft and the clasp didn’t ride up and choke him like his school cloak’s sometimes did. The arm slits were something he’d seen only on a few wizards. Professor Snape’s cloak had had them. Hermione’s did, too. They were not very traditional, but Harry was not very traditional, either.

“We can do the stitching in a number of patterns as well,” said Coddler, and with a few more taps demonstrated several masculine-looking stitch patterns for the embroidery.

“The slashy one,” said Harry.

“Half-chevron it is,” said Coddler.

Harry looked to Draco for his approval and was pleased and warmed by the dark, lustful look in his eyes. “It’s very light,” said Harry, spinning a bit. It felt like he wasn’t wearing anything more than robes.

“More of the spell-working charms,” Coddler said. “To increase ease of movement.”

“I love it,” Harry said. “I’ll take this one.”

“Wonderful!” said Coddler.

They settled on the placement of the crest (Harry chose to have it embroidered inside because he felt outside was too ostentatious), the exact shade of green, and the lining. He didn’t go with kelpie lining – after hearing about Mrs Norris, he just couldn’t. But the jackalope was weather resistant as well, and a solid choice.

Coddler left them to grab Harry’s cloak and ring up the transaction, and then it was just the two of them again. Harry caught Draco’s eye in the mirror and held it. “I don’t regret that,” Harry said. “I bury my head in the sand. Or in a cauldron,” he added, remembering Draco’s version.

Draco was silent for a moment. “Won’t you?” he asked.

Harry shook his head.

“And when your friends find out?” Draco pressed.

“They’ve learned to deal with a lot of changes,” said Harry. “They’re getting quite good at it.”

“Weasley was stubborn enough to stay in Gryffindor,” Draco reminded him.

Harry laughed. “And I was determined enough to leave it. They’ll be fine. We’re Hufflepuffs, remember? Together, we’re larger than any enemy.”

Draco snorted, but there was a new pinkness to his cheeks. He looked briefly away, but there were mirrors on all sides, and he quickly realised Harry could see him no matter which way he turned.

Harry turned around, took Draco’s shoulders in his hands. “We do better as a team than we do individually. I want you. I _have_ wanted you. I think you want me, too.”

“I want you,” Draco agreed.

Coddler returned then with Harry’s school cloak and a bank draft to sign. Harry scribbled his name on it, barely noticing the amount or the strokes of his quill.

“I’ll owl it to Hogwarts, shall I?” said Coddler. “Should have it ready for you in three days.”

“Brill,” said Harry. Coddler smiled, and then held his arm out to lead Harry and Draco from the shop. Draco went first, back straight and somehow loose, as he always was. Harry paused at the door frame. He found the engraving. It said only, ‘Draco lived.’ It was old, decades at least, probably more. Harry wondered what other Draco had come here before them and felt the world closing in on him the way they did. That Draco had lived through it. Harry was determined that this one would, too.

-x-

There’d been another Obliviation – an Obliviator who’d decided to protest, make a statement. He’d Obliviated a family of four who happened upon some flickering wards near the Blarney Stone in Ireland and the MUS had had him arrested for it. Currently, he was awaiting trial before the UMN.

“Maybe we should rethink this thing,” Hannah half-heartedly offered at the Wednesday evening meeting, in reference to their plans to destroy the Muggle landfills. There were nascent plans and strategies forming for how they’d get the Muggles to better handle their waste, but so far they were only dreams, for the Hufflepuffs could find no way around exposing the magical world to do it.

“The MUS can go fuck itself,” said Draco, who was well past indignation and into contempt where the Americans’ political choices lay. “We just have to be very careful. That Obliviator sold his story to the _Prophet_. He was making a point. We’re protecting our world. There’s a difference.”

“He should’ve just Obliviated the Muggles and shut up about it,” Anthony agreed.

“I still think we should do it,” said Sally.

Hannah hesitated. “Alright fine, I do, too. I just don’t want us all to get arrested.”

“Let’s not get arrested then,” said Neville.

“Splendid idea,” Draco said. They all gave him a look. “I’m not apologising again. Longbottom knows my sarcasm is a defence mechanism.”

Neville nodded.

“And besides, you lot are just as bad as I am,” Draco added. “Potter’s the only one left who’s yet to succumb to sarcastic witticisms, and that’s only because he probably doesn’t know how. Even Lovegood says things that make me wonder how long she’s been mocking every last one of us.”

Luna smiled serenely at this. She’d previously been telling Imani about her date with Goyle, which Imani seemed to find both unsettling and fascinating.

As for Harry, he definitely did not blush. It was not like Draco addressing him in public was new or particularly scandalous. It was just that he now knew what the mouth that made those words tasted like, and it tasted good. He’d been having the same problem all day. They’d not exactly spoken about their kiss from Saturday night, but Harry knew Draco remembered it, and remembered it well. They’d fallen asleep facing one another’s beds that night. Anthony’s snores and Neville’s late entrance had done little to disturb Harry. There’d been a part of his subconscious mind that registered both, but he’d fallen asleep without a worry and felt better than he had in years when he woke the next morning.

“Any fresh new ideas for the magical trap?” Hannah asked. “I’m stumped.”

“None,” said Neville. The others agreed.

“I might,” Harry said. “I’ve been thinking about how magic and electricity are the same, right? It’s just that magic operates on a higher frequency than mundane energies, like electricity, magnetism, and the like. So, what if we could sort of... occupy the magic trap with absorbing an electrical charge while we degrade the plastics and herbicides with the element-dissecting spell?”

They were silent. Harry glanced around, seeing thoughtful looks everywhere, finally settling on Draco, who was staring at Harry with an expression he’d never seen before.

“...What?” Harry asked warily.

Suddenly, Draco grabbed the front of his new cloak and jerked him forward. He pressed their lips together in a bruising kiss that Harry couldn’t help but melt into.

Until the cat calls started, anyway. Harry jerked back, blushing furiously.

“Woohoo, Harry!” Neville said, and that was the only one that could be repeated in polite company.

“I never knew you to be the type for public displays, Draco,” Eloise said mildly.

“Oh, I did,” said Anthony, with a great deal of disinterest. He was reading through his notes from their last meeting as he spoke. “There was a period in fifth year where I couldn’t hold a conversation with Michael without having to wait for him to detach his mouth from Draco long enough to answer.”

Harry felt a flare of jealousy. So he _had_ seen them outside the Quidditch stands!

“I remember that,” said Luna. “Draco was very good at distracting himself from things he didn’t want to think about.”

“We lasted two weeks,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. His eyes cut to Harry's briefly, as if in reassurance. The jealousy faded. Even _he_ could do better than two weeks. The reality that he’d just been kissed by Draco Malfoy – and kissed him back – in front of the majority of his House was beginning to set in.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered to himself. “I kissed Malfoy in public. No, he kissed me, and I was just a bystander. But I probably kissed him back a little. Fuck, this is so embarrassing.”

“Oh, Harry,” said Ernie Macmillan. “You’ve adapted to Hufflepuff so well, and yet sometimes your Gryffindor shows through in the most obnoxiously bright shades of red and gold. No one gives a fuck who you kiss. Love all you like and anyone you like.”

No one said a thing about love, but… Harry glanced shyly at Draco, and found him looking back. He was trying to look aloof and confident, but Harry saw him swallowing and knew there was nervousness underneath.

“Anyway,” said Zach Smith. “This is heart-warming and whatever, but can we get back to the important things? Potter was onto something before he started sucking face with his partner in Seven Years of Unresolved Sexual Tension.”

“Oh, right,” said Hannah.

“I have a fantastic idea!” Justin declared, jumping up. He paced back and forth before the bonfire, gesticulating wildly. “An _explosion_.”

Brows scrunched all around. Harry took the opportunity to slide closer to Draco until their hips and shoulders were touching. Draco smirked at him. He grabbed Harry’s hand and rubbed his fingers slowly back and forth over Harry’s knuckles as they listened to Justin talk.

“An explosion?” said Neville.

“I love explosions,” Justin explained. “In this case, I think one might actually be useful. We could… hmm, wait a tic. No, never mind,” he said, deflating. “We can’t explode landfills. It might hurt Muggles.”

“Maybe a little one,” Luna offered consolingly.

“Yeah, maybe… no!” Justin said, his excitement returning. “I’ve another idea. It’ll be nearly as good as an explosion. We can blow the fuse. It might cause a power outage, but they’ll fix that up no problem, and in the meantime, the redirected electricity will occupy the magic trap while we work.”

It took some small-word explaining to convey the idea of electricity and fuses to many in the group, but by the end of it, Harry felt confident they had a working plan. He was practically snuggled into Draco by this point, and no one even looked twice. It felt both taboo and absolutely normal.

And it felt right. He didn’t want it to end. He was determined that he and Draco wouldn’t.

Eloise said, “So we can clean all that up, and then the flowers will be able to grow again, and magic should return to it.”

“In theory, yeah,” said Harry.

“But they’ll just fuck it all up again,” said Draco, eternal pessimist. They deflated again. Watching Hufflepuffs interact, how they ebbed and flowed all together, was probably very funny to outsiders. But outsiders would never see them like this. It was how Hufflepuff had survived so long, and certainly how their secret society had.

“Yeah, they will,” Harry agreed. “They wouldn’t know how not to.”

“Then we’ll be back at square one in another year,” Anthony said. “That’s not sustainable.”

Neville set his jaw. “So next we’ll have to help them do it themselves.”

Draco stiffened. It jostled Harry a little bit, but he didn’t care. It was exciting to experience Draco’s reactions with the sense of touch instead of sight. “We’ll give ourselves away doing that.”

“We have to hope for the best,” Hannah said. “It’s a risk worth taking to keep our magic, isn’t it?”

Reluctantly, Draco agreed.

Just knowing the problem and having a small-scale solution in mind was a major breakthrough for them. The Ministry had yet to come up with _any_ solution – or if they had, they weren’t sharing it. Shutting down factories sure as hell wasn’t going to help. But Harry and his Hufflepuffs couldn’t work with the Ministry on this. It might very well break the Statute of Secrecy. They would spend the rest of their lives in Azkaban for it.

Magic was more important than secrecy, even Draco agreed on that.

And so this would have to be done only by those they could absolutely trust. This would have to be their silent victory; they’d save the world, and no one would ever know it. And there was only one House loyal enough for that.

The Hufflepuffs decided to attempt the first landfill clean up on Halloween, as Samhain was a particularly good night for working big magic, and the familiarity of sabbat ritual would help keep them all on even footing. Ernie told him that the Order of the Golden Cup often performed their greatest magic on the night of Halloween. Harry was certain that this year, it would be the greatest magic they _ever_ performed.

-x-

Harry wore his new cloak on the night of Halloween. They were all stuffed and happy from the feast. Their spirits were high and their pockets were full of Honeydukes. Where the other houses had an array of sweets to choose from, the Hufflepuff table had been loaded down with all kinds of chocolates. Harry had looked up to the head table as he finished dinner and found Professor Sprout looking down at them all, her eyes soft with the worry a mother might feel watching children go off into the world. There was more to it than that, but she was good enough not to let on.

Her gaze moved and settled on Harry. He smiled at her and she returned it. ‘Eat your chocolate,’ she mouthed. He grinned at her. She was so very different from McGonagall, and so very alike, too.

“Professor Sprout knows we’re going,” he said to Delta Ashwood, who was sitting next to him. Delta looked up at Professor Sprout and then back to Harry. “She knows we always perform magic on Halloween night; she may suspect what we’ll try to affect tonight, but she’s wise enough not to ask us directly. Take extra chocolate with you. We’ll need all the strength we can get.”

Samhain was the beginning of winter for the druids, and they considered it a greater sabbat celebration. It was marked by the belief, later verified by magical researchers, that the veil between the living world and the dead world was much thinner on that night. It was good for divination and charms that worked on the soul. It was good for magic that needed help from beyond. Harry didn’t know that theirs would, but he supposed it couldn’t hurt.

Zacharias Smith’s mother worked for the Ministry, and had been able to secure a number of unregistered port-keys for them. Harry had no idea how she’d done that, but a Hufflepuff soon learned that often the best way to maintain one’s loyalty was to not ask questions whose answers would be better left outside one’s own head, if one were to be questioned.

He pulled his cloak tighter around himself as the fourth years and up crammed around manky soda cans and fast food bags. He grabbed hold of the edge of a concert flyer announcing a David Bowie tribute band to play next Saturday, his heart hammering. They were really going to do this. He wished Hermione and Ron could be here. He wished Hermione could check their diagrams and that Ron could slap his shoulder in a manly way to settle his nerves. But Justin had already checked the diagrams with Hermione – subtly, of course because they couldn’t trust anyone outside of Hufflepuff with this, even their best friends. And Ernie sent his regards from Ron, who was spending the evening on a project with Goyle. Even Ernie wouldn’t tell him what that damned project was.

“Port-keys in five!” called Zach.

Harry’s stomach tightened further. Draco felt him stiffen and pushed his shoulder lightly against Harry’s. Harry met his eyes, relaxing a little.

“We’ll sort this,” Draco whispered.

“I know,” said Harry.

Zach was counting down, _‘Three… two… one.’_ Their port-key activated, and for a moment, the world was a whirl of darkness and disorientation as it carried them away from Hogwarts. They landed with a collective ‘Oof!’ but Harry remained standing with Draco’s assistance.

The first landfill they’d chosen was outside of Glasgow, and was licensed for the disposal of hazardous waste. It was a large one that continued to receive more waste every day. It was also right next to a river and a very large patch of erstwhile heather. The landfill was just beyond a nearby fence, but the stench was overpowering.

“Lips sealed on all events from this point forward. We will never get glory for this,” Alick reminded them solemnly. “But I know you all know that and you don’t care. Much.” They laughed, nervously. “Ventilation charms up before we near the landfill, if you please!”

They obeyed. Emily went on to explain their different roles. Justin and Wayne were using a handy bit of magic moving the path of a nearby power line directly over the landfill. They would not be able to encircle it because it was far too large, and it was dangerous to get too close to the magic trap and the electrical lines anyway, so they would all line up along the southern edge, as it was the cardinal direction most auspicious for this particular ritual.

Eloise and Hannah cut a hole in the fence and they filed through, cautious of their steps and on high alert for the faintest tickle of magic being siphoned from them. Next, the sixth year girls focused their magic and sent a quick, sharp severing spell at the power line. It snapped from the broken tension and everyone drew in quick, terrified breaths. The power line flopped back onto the landfill and sparked hugely. In the distance, lights flickered off.

“We don’t have long before the Muggles figure out where the outage occurred,” Justin said, raising his voice over the sizzling and sparking of the power line. “We need to work fast!”

Harry and the other seventh and eighth year boys were instructed to place a containment spell over the power line and the landfill. He’d never done anything half as big, but they were large and they stopped for no enemy – even exhausting spells.

And then it was time for the spell itself. The de-flaming spell he’d learned from _The Science of Magic_ was not ritual-based, but that didn’t stop Hufflepuffs from turning it into one. They linked hands as they had done the night of the equinox, when Harry first saw how powerful a group of magical people could be together. Emily and Alick had chosen to sing the spell instead of chant it, an idea they got from the perpetual choir of lore.

Their voices rose up from the centre of the semicircle. Alick and Emily’s joined hands started to glow. The rest of them picked up the spell and the glow shot down their line, a wave of clasped hands lighting up. They sang the spell several rounds through, their hands glowing brighter and brighter. Harry was beginning to dread that it wouldn’t work, that they’d have done all of this for nothing, but then something happened.

The power line sparked again, and shot brilliant white light into the sky. The landfill started to burn in a multitude of unnatural colours. The smell of it was getting through Harry’s ventilation spell. He could only spare a mental thought for reinforcing it, but there was so much magic flowing through him right now that that was all it needed.

Colour by colour, the fires disintegrated. Ash fell from some, but others disappeared entirely. The sound of sirens began in the distance. Harry stiffened, feeling Mandy Brocklehurst do the same next to him. The Muggles were coming. Their spell song sped up in sync, the intensity of it increasing with each round of the spell, changing as they moved from de-flaming to rotting and decomposing spells on the waste.

After an eternity, or at least if felt thus, the last fire died. Their spell trailed off, echoing over the vale. The Muggle sirens were louder now, nearly upon them. They didn’t need to approach to know their spell had worked. Even from this distance, they could see it: the mound of freshly turned dirt where once a mountain of hazardous waste had been. Harry dropped his ventilation mask and breathed in. The air was clean.

Magic flowed above them, swirling the air like the Aurora Borealis. Harry had never seen anything more beautiful.

Justin and Wayne hurriedly moved the power line poles back where they’d come from, and everyone took up their port-keys. Flashing lights came around the bend, the Muggles’ sirens wailing in the silence.

Zach said, “Portus!” and they disappeared.


	8. The Constancy of Hufflepuff

While the rest of their house stopped in the kitchens to get celebratory drinks and snacks (Hufflepuffs were always eating, but they did run around _a lot_ so the extra calories weren’t usually gratuitous), Harry tugged Draco straight back to their dorm. He had other ideas for celebrating their victory.

“You’ve been all I could think about since Saturday,” Harry said as he tugged Draco inside. He locked the door behind them and turned to give Draco a saucy grin. “You knew that though, didn’t you?”

Draco tried to look innocent. “I’ve learned not to hide my head.”

Harry advanced on him. “You’ve been teasing me on purpose.”

“I wouldn’t say that…” said Draco.

“Oh? What would you say?” Harry asked, as he reached Draco. He reached up and brushed Draco’s soft hair back from his face. Draco’s eyes flicked back and forth, taking in his expression. His smile was saucy and yet still somehow tender.

“I’d say,” Draco said quietly, “that I needed to be sure you were serious.”

Harry bit his lip. “I’m a Hufflepuff, Malfoy. You know I wouldn’t play those games.”

“Hard habits,” said Draco.

“I’ll show you hard,” Harry growled. He pushed Draco back on his bed and slid in on top of them. Out in the common room, a cacophony of excited voices started up as the barrel door opened. The rest of the house was back, but they were too excited to miss Harry or Draco right now, and Harry was going to take full advantage of that.

Draco smirked up at him from the bed, his hair fanning out over the quilt. “Maybe I’ll show you first.” He pushed his hips up and Harry growled. Malfoy was going to get it tonight and by the look in his eyes, he was very amenable to the idea.

-x-

On the first of November, they woke up to the news that Carmarthen in Wales had fallen apart. It turned out that the veils between the living and dead worlds wasn’t the only one that thinned the night of Halloween. The magical wards that separated magical Carmarthen from Muggle Carmarthen dissolved shortly after midnight, and within twenty minutes, all of the wizarding space had decomposed. Houses spread on top of houses. Businesses crushed other businesses. There was a magical pet shop on the high street that shared wizarding space with a post office, and they lost two dozen creatures in the sudden burst of movement as the magic collapsed in the shop. Fourteen magical people and twenty-seven Muggles were so far confirmed dead, an unconfirmed number missing.

The Great Hall was an echoing silence. The Ravenclaw table was full and every set of hands held a newspaper. No one could look away from the gruesome photographs of the damage. It was a small town. The magical side was situated on the edge, right at the River Towy. Forty-one human deaths and twenty four animal deaths so far. All things considered, the damage could have been a lot worse. What if it had been at Hogwarts? Or Diagon Alley?

With their _Daily Prophets_ came a special edition copy of the local Muggle paper, the _Carmarthen Journal_ and its headline which read: _‘Buildings appear from nothing overnight, Priory, entire street flattened’_. There were many photographs in both papers. Most of them looked like the aftermath of a big earthquake. Blood was visible in some of them, sometimes shoes or the arm of a body crushed beneath rubble. They censored none of it.

The Obliviators could be seen in many of them, standing back, unable to act. They’d reached Britain’s limit of Obliviations for the year last month; they were forbidden to do their jobs and with the Obliviator Prius O’Dell still on trial for illegal Obliviation, they weren’t attempting their own in full view of photographers. Despite this, they were required to get out of bed and respond to the emergency... even if responding just meant showing up and watching all the Muggles staring dumbfounded at the destruction, or crying helplessly, or desperately trying to rescue people.

The DMLE and St Mungo’s were out in full force, blatantly levitating rubble from bodies, looking for survivors, casting healing spells and life-stasis spells on anyone who might make it, both wizard and Muggle.

The Muggles saw all of this, and some reacted. It could be seen in the photographs – their wide eyes tracking the swish of a wand or the glow of a healer’s hands on a chest. But others noticed and kept working, kept pulling people from beneath roofs and bricks, kept pumping chests in helpless cases. And the Obliviators just watched.

Draco sarcastically wondered if they’d be arrested and tried by the UMN for breach of the Statute. “That American Ambassador is an affront to wizarding kind,” he said. “How the buggering hell are we to keep the Statute of Secrecy now?”

There were hundreds. Literally hundreds of Muggles witness to the scene. And they had all walked away with their memories.

The adrenaline-fueled fear and excitement they’d all felt last night after working their magic seemed inconsequential in light of today’s news. What was one missing landfill when the world had this to deal with?

 _‘Emergency crews continue to work with Muggle law enforcement and disaster management teams to locate survivors in last night’s catastrophic wizarding space collapse,’_ read one article.

_‘Minister Shacklebolt is currently in discussions with Muggle Prime Minister Stephanie Pritchard regarding the mass exposure of the wizarding community in Carmarthen to Muggles. UMN Ambassador Priscilla McDougal is expected to speak to the UMN today about Britain’s Obliviation restrictions, recently imposed by the Magically United States over fears that Muggle UK citizens’ rights are infringed upon with memory charms. There has been no comment from the Ministry regarding the actions to be taken to ensure that Muggles do not learn of our world.’_

But the Muggles already knew. Harry didn’t understand how anyone could be so naive, how they could stick their heads in the sand like – like Gryffindors and Slytherins, sometimes like Ravenclaws. Like he used to do. Like everyone but Hufflepuffs. But he knew, really: they didn’t want to think of a world in which they weren’t safe from Muggles. They were too frightened to.

They suspected the failure began in Carmarthen because it was Wales’ oldest town, and certainly oldest magical town. It was a popular pilgrimage site for magical folk; everyone wanted to see where Merlin was born, and that had kept the magical community there robust. The magic sustaining it was just too old, too delicate. It needed the daffodils to keep it supple, and the entire area was a desert for them.

Classes were cancelled for the morning and all the Hufflepuffs, both old, new, and current, showed up in the Sett, worry clear on their faces. They were exposed, but they still had to solve the problem.

“We have to do another,” said Tracey Davis. “We need to do as many as possible before more magical places implode.”

“We should start with the ones closest to major wizarding communities,” Anthony said. “They’re most liable to cause damage if they fail. We need to get those plastics as far away from Diagon Alley and Hogwarts as possible.”

Many Hufflepuffs nodded in agreement. They looked to Alick Macmillan and Emily Abbott, high druids for the year. After a moment of silent communication, Emily said, “We’ll go again tonight. Where’s the next landfill?”

-x-

The next night, they were in Inverness, and it was bloody freezing. The ritual went quicker this night, but they felt even more drained than the night before. Professor Sprout passed out chocolates in class instead of points for good answers the next day.

Over November, the Hufflepuffs did dozens more landfills. At least one a night, and often two or three if the spaces were small enough or the chemicals few enough.

They watched the papers daily for reaction from the Muggles. Witnesses from Wales were giving interviews, but the atmosphere was still a sceptical one. They were, true to form, playing it off as tricks of the eye and natural phenomena. No one was saying the word ‘magic’ and if they were, it was ironically. The _Daily Prophet_ followed the Muggle stories cautiously, as if waiting for the bottom to drop out and the Muggles to realise what was happening.

They also covered the trial of the Obliviator, and the Ministry’s continued efforts to lock-in aid from the UMN, but they were now fighting over how to punish UK for breaking the Statute, potentially on an irreparable scale. Harry was deeply unimpressed with bureaucracy at this point in his life and did not expect to ever change his mind on that.

The Hufflepuffs had all taken on the exhausted look that had become so common on Neville’s face. Even Draco’s eyes were permanently dark-rimmed. He looked much as he had in sixth year – tired and worried and a little lost, but still just as confident of himself as he’d always been, if more calculating in where he spent his sharp tongue.

And he often spent that sharp tongue on Harry, which was not disagreeable at all. Harry, for one, was still in a dream-state of disbelief, hardly daring to actually believe that Draco was with him and liked being so. Everyone in Hufflepuff knew about them now, and they were teased constantly, but it was a gentle sort of teasing, the kind that came out of friendly obligation rather than actually caring that Harry and Draco kissed one another in the common room pretty much constantly.

But during the day, in classes, when they had to unjoin their hands and pretend like they weren’t fucking quite as often as they actually were, Harry missed him, even when he was right there. Draco Malfoy was a torrential force, and he should not look tired. He should look like a blizzard, never weakening, always pushing forward. During the day, he missed the Draco who’d existed in public before the war, before they’d had to choose their priorities very carefully. That Draco showed up in the Sett, but Harry didn’t think it was right that he had to mind his tongue in public, just to keep everyone else feeling comfortable. But that was a problem for another time, after school, when he’d talk Draco into finding a flat with him (and Ron and Hermione), or redecorating (and renaming) Grimmauld Place, or whatever Draco liked. First they’d save magic, and then they’d take on Draco’s public image.

McGonagall had noticed the Hufflepuffs’ tiredness. She’d noticed it in the former ones as well. But she’d not confronted them about it. Perhaps because, amazingly, the story had not yet broken in magical Britain, but Hermione had a subscription to the _London Times_ , and Harry was certain she’d figured it out. The looks she gave him said enough.

Their breakfasts at the Hufflepuff table had begun to include gluten-free chocolate scones, chocolate protein shakes, and chocolate granola bars. The quiches had grown on Harry and he began to look forward to Thursdays, when the mushroom-ricotta ones appeared.

But despite the loads of chocolate and good food, they were weakening. All of them were low on sleep, and many had lost weight. It wasn’t a sustainable practise. They were only halfway through the list of ‘highly hazardous’ landfills in Britain, and there were literally hundreds more. It would take them months. Harry didn’t think he could keep this up for months, but they tried anyway. They did landfill after landfill, leaving clean, magic-safe land in their wakes.

It was not until early December that they realised their mistake.


	9. The Audacity of Hufflepuff

“Harry!” Hermione said, running up to him as he and Draco came into the hall for a late breakfast the first Saturday in December.

They’d previously been arguing over Draco’s owl using Harry’s bed to digest mice on, which Draco thought was perfectly reasonable since Harry most often spent the night in Draco’s, and which Harry thought was quite unreasonable because it was disgusting. But they stopped at once at the sight of Hermione’s hair flying behind her as she neared them. She had a newspaper in her hand and she looked horrified. Pansy was right behind her.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry said.

“What?” said Draco.

“Something bad,” was all Harry could get out before the girls reached them. Hermione grabbed his arm and immediately started dragging him back out of the Great Hall. “But breakfast!” he protested, but she said, ‘It’s handled, let’s go,’ and Harry went.

Hermione didn’t stop until she had them outside and to the courtyard, far out of the range of Extendable Ears and first years. Harry hadn’t brought his good cloak, or indeed any cloak at all, but Draco was excellent with his warming charms. Harry caught Pansy’s appraising look as the warmth washed over him.

“What is it, Granger?” Draco asked.

“Oh, hello, Malfoy,” Hermione said, as if only just noticing him, which was actually quite possible. And then, “It’s the news this morning. Have you seen it? No, you wouldn’t have, you obviously just woke up. Here – look.” She handed him the paper, a Muggle one. He saw the picture before he saw the headline. It didn’t move, but the magicalness of it was undeniable. Those auroras of released magic they’d left behind at each sanitised landfill were filling up the sky over London. Even still, Harry could tell that it would’ve been a frenzy in the sky. He finally looked at the headline. It said: _‘Unexplained phenomena continues above 6 UK cities, experts stumped’_ and then the subtitle: “ _I guess it’s magic,” says London meteorologist Bob Herring’_.

“Ohhh, fuck,” said Draco. Pansy eyed him sharply, said nothing.

“I didn’t see any of this in my calculations,” Hermione said. She tugged angrily on her hair, throwing the paper down on the ground in frustration. “How did this happen? Harry, we’re so utterly fucked if magic is failing at this rate. I don’t even know what’s going on. How is there so much magic just floating there in the air? Why isn’t it tethering to anything? I just–”

“Hermione,” Harry said. She stopped and looked at him. He’d never seen her eyes look so desperate.

“Get a grip, Granger,” said Draco. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“Isn’t it?” she said, rounding on Draco. “There’s tonnes of magic just hovering above the city of London, it’s inaccessible to magical people and something’s _still_ sucking the rest of it dry from all the flowers.”

“It’s just… hovering there?” Harry asked.

Hermione nodded. Pansy said, “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Have you, Draco?”

Draco didn’t give a thing away. “Never,” he said.

“So we’re finally exposed?” Harry asked. “They’ve finally figured it out?” They had all been waiting for this day, but they’d also hoped it would never arrive. If the Muggles knew of their existence, and if the rest of the magic that hid wizarding Britain from the Muggle half, it would be impossible to hide from them. They’d be outnumbered and Draco’s outlandish fears of being dissected would probably not be so outlandish after all.

Hermione looked miserable. “I don’t know. Maybe. The article said that these aurora things have been showing up all over. I need to go to London and pull the last few weeks of all the major UK newspapers. Maybe do some more magic readings, to see what the status is around these sites. I’ll see what I can find.”

Harry took a few steps forward, unsure what to say. Merlin, they were all trying so hard not to lose their minds over this thing, not to completely break down with fear. But they could still _all_ lose their magic.

They could _all_ be squibs.

Harry was panicking inside, hoping it wasn’t obvious to Hermione. “Yeah, good idea.” Draco grabbed Harry’s hand to calm him and both women trained their eyes on the movement.

“Pansy and I are going today,” Hermione said. “I was going to ask if you wanted to come with us, but it looks like you have other things to do today.”

Harry turned bright red. “We need to talk to the Hufflepuffs.”

Hermione hmm’d knowingly. “See how they huddle,” she murmured softly. Draco and Pansy looked sharply at her, but Harry wanted to hug her. He had people to huddle with through this disaster; Hermione was tough, but he would bet even she wanted to huddle, too, right now. The worst part of it was that he couldn’t even offer it to her. She wouldn’t take it out here in front of Draco.

“I’ll let you know what we find,” Hermione promised.

“Brill,” said Harry. He couldn’t promise the same, but Hermione was too distracted to notice. Pansy wasn’t, though. They left for the Apparition point outside the gates.

Harry didn’t think he was the only one among them who’d been in a constant state of fight-or-flight since the news first broke. And what good was the Ministry? Su Li had been right when she said they weren’t doing anything useful. And what good were Obliviations now? It was far too late for that.

That was unfair. Shacklebolt was restrained by international laws; he had to do things by the book or risk trial before the entire world, which would certainly slow down the process. Harry had heard from various Weasleys that Shacklebolt had put good people on the task, including the Department of Mysteries, but that’s all he’d heard. No results yet. Maybe none ever.

And could they really leave their magic in the hands of the Ministry?

Of course not. So it was in the hands of school children, as Voldemort had been. Why was he unsurprised?

-x-

Everyone was in Hogsmeade for the day, but Hufflepuffs weren’t hard to round up. They travelled in herds. Most of them were found in Honeydukes, and the rest they rounded up at the Three Broomsticks. And sneaking them out in a large group also wasn’t hard to do, as the rest of the school expected Hufflepuffs to all come and go in ridiculously large packs.

“What’s going on?” Zach Smith said as they all piled back out into the snow. “It better be important. I was having brunch with the Slytherins.”

“It’s important, Zach,” Draco said, mindful to use his first name in public but failing to scrape off the annoyance from the word. “We can go to Madam Puddifoot’s. She keeps excellent privacy spells up.”

Despite the decor and the last disastrous time Harry had come to Madam Puddifoot’s, he was grateful to be inside it. She kept it warm, and the smell of scones was thick in the air. Harry ordered a chocolate one for everyone, two pots of tea, and a pot of hot chocolate to be delivered to their huge table. Madam Puddifoot had seen it all in her time, apparently; she didn’t bat a single overly-mascara’d eyelash when all of the seventh and eighth years – current and former – the sixth years, and the fourth and fifths that they found along the way came in.

When they settled in behind the privacy spell, Draco immediately started talking. “Granger and her hair attacked us this morning as we were going to breakfast–”

"Draco,” Harry warned. “Hermione’s hair was fine this morning."

“It’s nearly lunch,” Ernie broke in. “You two were still in bed?”

“With one another no doubt,” Zach said boredly. “Who cares? Get to the point so I can go back to my Mandrake Mimosa. I paid for bottomless and I’ve only had two so far.”

“And yet it doesn’t improve your personality at all,” Neville muttered under his breath. Harry snorted.

Draco narrowed his eyes dangerously. He slapped Hermione’s forgotten paper onto the table and sneered at Zacharias. “This close enough to the point for you, Zach?”

Everyone crowded around the paper. Gasps sprang up all around.

“It didn’t work,” Eloise said, her hand to her mouth. “We did all those landfills, and the magic didn’t return to the flowers? Not even the seedlings?”

“It’s got to be corrupted,” Draco said. “The tethering spell the druids used is broken. It can’t renew. The magic’s just going to float around until it just wanders off into outer space, never to be seen again.”

Harry chewed on his scone, rather than his lip. Draco had one hand on his thigh beneath the table, a constant grounding presence. “We’re going to have to re-tether it, aren’t we?”

“What on earth to?” asked Anthony. “There’s enough magic just floating over cleaned landfills to give every child in Britain eleven and younger a Hogwarts letter.”

“Don’t be dramatic–” Zach began to say.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” said Luna. They all turned to her. She was buttering her chocolate scone while Imani looked on in fascination. “I’m sure it would go a long way towards helping the Muggles adjust to our existence, once we completely break the Statute of Secrecy, I mean. It’s hard to hate an entire group of people when your children are part of it.”

“We won’t break the Statute,” said Zach, who was in fine form today.

“Yes we will,” Draco cut in angrily. “We’ve _already_ broken it.” He tapped harshly against the headline. “Several times now. And they’re already starting to second-guess their tendency to explain magic away. It’s only a matter of time before we’ve completely blown it, Smith. I’ll be amazed if we make it to Yule.”

Luna continued on, as if she hadn’t been rudely interrupted by Zach. “If we tethered it to children, it would automatically renew with each generation, barring genetic mutations.” Which meant Squibs, of course, but Luna would never say that. “Seems like it solves the problem nicely to me. No more reliance on flowers, although I do think it’s a lovely idea to help the Muggles clean their messes up and we should definitely keep doing that.”

“But… we can’t give magic to Muggles,” Tracey said. “...Can we?”

“I don’t think anyone’s ever tried it,” Su Li said, “but… theoretically, I suppose… well really I don’t see why not,” she continued, gathering steam. “Now that I think about it, it’s perfectly reasonable. Muggles are entirely the same as us genetically. It’s been long believed that it’s exposure to magic at the embryo stage that creates a magical core in a child. It’s late, but children under eleven are still developing – a sudden, heavy exposure to magic might yet be able to create a core.”

“And if we tethered it to the _idea_ of children and not _specific_ children,” Anthony said, picking up the thought, “then the magic would be just as free flowing as it is anywhere else in the world, and relatively safer from the effects of the magical traps than environmental magic.”

“But…” Draco said, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else. “It’s _Muggles_. If we gave their children magic, or even some of them, then we’d never be able to hide again. _Ever_. There would be too many magical people to hide away. How would we train them? Where would they live?”

Harry was both annoyed by the sentiment and thoughtful of the questions. “Draco, really,” he said. “The economy would grow to support them. It might even lead to innovation.”

Although he did recognise that Draco had a point, and a good one. Their community was very different from the Muggle one. It could handle a slow growth, but there was no guarantee the growth would be slow. They would have no idea how the magic would react, if they could get it to work at all.

“I don’t have to like Muggles to be a real Hufflepuff,” he declared.

“That’s true,” said Zach. “I don’t like them either.”

“Merlin save me,” Draco muttered.

“Is no one going to think about how gross as fuck it would be to put that nasty landfill magic in a bunch of innocent kids?” Harry asked. This magic came from the seeping rot of Muggle waste. It was trapped by toxins and chemical waste, muddled with carcinogenic polymers and radioactivity. It was vile. Logically, he knew they were cleaning it; emotionally, he was grossed out.

“It’s perfectly clean,” Anthony said. “We did a superb job with those spells.”

Harry had to admit that was true. But, “What if it hurts them?”

“It can’t,” Anthony said. “Extensive studies have proven that being around or being affected by a large amount of magic has no adverse effects on Muggles. It may be similar to electricity, but it doesn’t react with the human body at all the same.”

“It would be the same as casting a spell on them,” Mandy said. “Which is technically what it is.

“If this could’ve really been done before then why didn’t Muggleborn children do it to their families ages ago?” asked Harry. Surely at least Hermione would’ve given it a try.

Draco gave him a look. “Do you really think a single Muggleborn could have controlled enough natural magic to attach it to anyone, much less an entire family? And besides, who reads up on rituals, besides Hufflepuffs? They’re hardly used anymore.”

“I think it’s really dangerous,” Zach said. “We’re already practically exposed.” Harry noted that he was changing his tune here. “Have you seen how the UMN is reacting? When they’re scared, _we_ should be scared. This will completely break the Statute and there won’t be any way to undo it. It’ll drag every last country out of the broom cupboard.”

“Even the Americans,” Draco said with satisfaction, but Harry could sense the unease hidden beneath his skin. Draco didn’t want to be exposed any more than Zach did. And really, neither did Harry. He wracked his brain, desperate for another solution. He wished he could think of anything at all that they could tether the magic to that would renew like people did, and thus keep it safe. He drew blank after blank after blank. And the rest of the Hufflepuffs were intrigued with the idea.

“Well, we have to do something,” said Hannah.

They didn’t have to take votes in Hufflepuff. Things were decided largely democratically and entirely without ayes or nays. They could just look at one another, every one of them scanning the faces of the rest of the group, and understand. No one loved this idea, but no one had a better one, and they all knew that they were short on something very precious: time. They took vote without a word, and Harry knew what it would be before it was even announced.

“Muggles it is,” said Draco, sighing. “I really hope we aren’t dooming our entire community to death by medical experiment.”

“Or burning,” Neville added. He elbowed Draco and said, “Don’t tell your family about it, eh? They might get ideas.”

“Bollocks,” said Draco. “I’d forgotten about them. My useless cousin Kyle still hasn’t made any progress with the MUS. Perhaps his connections aren’t as solid as he claimed. I think that holiday party invitation he extorted from me will be sadly lost in the post.”

“I think Wayne and I can get the Ravenclaws to help us figure out how to re-engineer the tethering… without giving anything away, I mean,” said Justin, refusing to let them get off topic. “I like this idea. I really think we could do it... and if we did, just think what a breakthrough it would be. Imagine all the little kids who’d get Hogwarts letters. It would change so many lives for the better."

“I’ll help,” said Su Li. Mandy and Anthony immediately agreed. “I think Granger can help me with the diagrams. I’ll chat with her, casually, and see if I can figure it out with her help.”

"Good,” said Hannah. She looked around them all in satisfaction. “I can’t wait to try this. We’re going to change the world."

-x-

Harry and Draco stayed in Hogsmeade long after the others had gone back to the school, excited to begin their research for this new ritual. Harry was less excited, and Draco even less so. In truth, they were both conflicted by it all, and the hours they spent walking around Hogsmeade were spent mostly quietly, as they thought through the afternoon’s developments.

The sun was going down and it was even colder than it had been that day when they finally began the trek back to the school. Another layer of snow was falling, and it crunched under their feet as they made new tracks in it. Harry wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. He walked closer to Draco. They had kept a respectable distance while in town, but Harry wanted to feel the body heat radiating from Draco as they walked back. He wanted to be assured he wasn’t alone here, walking along this forest that might disappear completely if magic vanished from the land. The castle surely would; without magical support, it would eventually crumble into the ruins Muggles saw it as. Gryffindor Tower was certainly not a sound or sane structure – it was, Harry was certain, held up solely by the stubbornness of the castle. But castles couldn’t be sentient without magic, and the tower would fall if it disappeared. He spared a thought for Ron sleeping up there every night, just as stubborn as the castle itself. It was hard not to worry for Ron, when nightmarish disasters like that in Wales happened. The Professors tested the environmental magic around and in Hogwarts everyday; it was still at one-hundred percent here, thankfully. For now, anyway, the Gryffindors didn’t have to worry about falling from the sky.

“Potter?” said Draco. It was a testament to how comfortable he was feeling right now that he used Harry’s surname. They were alone here; they could call one another what they liked, without the demands of their House hanging above them.

“Mm?"

Draco kicked at the new snow as he walked. He said, “Do you really think we’ll survive it if Muggles figure us out?"

“Do you think we’ll survive it if we run out of magic?” Harry asked instead.

“No,” said Draco, at once.

Harry didn’t think so either. “I think we will survive it if we do it properly. If we don’t scare them. If we learn how to work together as a community... as we work together as a House."

Draco was thoughtful. He took Harry’s hand again, their gloves distorting the feeling of Draco’s long fingers entwined with Harry’s own, but enough of a comfort nonetheless. Harry wondered what would happen after school – if this nightmare would be over by then, if Draco’s parents would pitch a fit if they found out he and Harry were kind of sort of dating. They walked some distance further without speaking, and then Draco said, “I hate this."

“Me, too,” said Harry. Merlin, did he ever. He’d been raised Muggle and he knew there were plenty of wonderful ones out there. But there were also people like the Dursleys, and the thought of those kinds of people finding out about wizards terrified him. What if giving magic to Muggle children was the end of their history? What if they broke the Statute fully and completely? What if _all_ Muggles _all over the world_ found out about them?

Well, they would figure it out. They’d done so in the past. Perhaps the Americans would be the first to develop a mass Obliviation spell targeted solely at Muggles. They reached the Hogwarts gates and Harry stopped.

“Malfoy?” said Harry. Draco looked at him, confused.

“What?"

Harry didn’t know what he wanted to say. Seeing the snowflakes in Draco’s hair and on his shoulders, his brows tense in worry, Harry loved him a little bit. He loved how Draco was so loyal to his people, so sure of himself, so unsure. He loved how his pointy nose always hit Harry’s when they tried to kiss, and how his chin looked even sharper when he chewed on his bottom lip in Transfigurations class.

“Nothing,” said Harry. He couldn’t say it right now. Not when Draco was so worried about being experimented on by Muggles. But he could kiss him. That, at least, they could both handle at the moment. He leaned in. When their lips touched it was like fire down his spine. Harry had expected the thrill to lessen with each encounter, but it never did. It got stronger and stronger, and during landfill clean-ups, Harry would swear their magic did, too. Draco moaned into their kiss, and it made Harry shudder. He fell into Draco, kissing him desperately, determined that this moment shouldn’t end even if the world were to fall down all around them.

Which it very well might. But fuck it, he’d love Draco as a Muggle if he had to. He’d love him as whatever he had to.


	10. The Magic of Hufflepuff

They were going to go on Wednesday, the week before Yule, during the time the seventh and eighth years normally met with their mentors. Harry and Neville were just getting out of Beginner Arithmancy, a class they’d both picked up this year to conveniently have no room left on their schedules for Advanced Potions. They were full of nervous energy as they headed into the Great Hall for dinner. Harry wasn’t even sure he could eat; Neville didn’t seem to have the same problem.

“One thing I keep worrying about,” Neville said as they were filling their plates. “What are we going to do about the electricity? If we add a bunch of magic to kids, it could completely disrupt Muggle lifestyles. Their gadgets might stop working.”

“Then we’ll have to figure out how to make it all work together,” Harry said firmly. “I’m sure the Ravenclaws would love the challenge.”

“Probably,” Neville agreed.

Harry passed him the gravy. “We made the choice because we had to make the choice,” he said. “There’s nothing else stable we can tether it to except people.”

“Right,” said Neville, sounding a little more confident.

“And who’s more deserving of it than happy little kids?”

“And the unhappy ones, too,” Neville said. “Magic might make them happy.”

Harry clearly remembered his own childhood. “I daresay it will,” he agreed.

They tried to eat, but they were full of nervous energy. Su, Mandy, and Anthony looked even more nervous, but they’d promised the House the night before that they were ready. They’d (secretly) consulted with the Ravenclaws, getting just enough advice and second opinions to work out the complete diagram and ritual type the ancient druids had most likely used without giving their intentions away. And all three of them were whizzes at Arithmancy and had needed no extra help to formulate the inverse formula.

That would be the easy part – completely disconnecting Britain’s natural magic from the flowers from so great a distance. The harder part would be reassembling the magical tether to something else. Muggle children.

-x-

Into the silence, a melodramatic fourth year stated: “The week before Yule, and all through our House, not a Hufflepuff was stirring, not even Elouse.”

“It’s _Eloise_ , Katie Parker,” Eloise said to the cheeky fourth year. “And your rhyming verse needs work.”

The fourth year shrugged, shifting on her feet. “I never claimed to be a poet.” She shifted again, and poked Eloise in the arm. “Eloise, do you think it’ll work?”

“It’ll work,” Eloise said firmly.

Katie nodded, still staring at the dying field of clover just west of Dublin. “When I’m a seventh year, I hope I’m re-sorted into Gryffindor like you.”

“Merlin, save me from Hufflepuffs,” Draco muttered. Harry sniggered.

Parker gave him a withering look. She turned back to Eloise and added, faux-whispering, “These bros ain’t loyal.” Eloise patted her head.

“If this works,” Harry said, grasping Draco’s hand as the enormity of everything crashed into him at once, “everything’s going to change. Are you ready for that?” Were they really about to do this?

“No,” Draco said.

Harry pressed his lips together. He felt so much for Draco in that moment because Draco was here anyway, ready or not. “Me neither.”

Draco’s fingers tightened around his own. “I’m not ready to lose my magic, either. I’d rather adjust to Muggleborns charming telephones to work with magic than I would adjust to having to use the Muggle version because Floos don’t work.”

Harry’s heart fluttered in his chest. He felt such a rush of love for Draco in that moment. He was doing something he hated, something he really, really didn’t want to do… because it was necessary to save the whole. God, what Hufflepuffs they were.

“You listened in Muggle Studies,” Harry said roughly, instead of what he wanted to say, which was, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you, you stupid arsehole’.

“I take my studies very seriously,” Draco affirmed.

“Are we ready?” called Emily Abbott. They were. As ready as they could be, anyway. Emily and Alick called them to order. Harry’s hand in Draco’s had never felt more important than it did in that moment. He couldn’t even feel Eloise holding his other one, though he knew logically that she was; it was just that Draco’s was all he could focus on. There was already a current between them, something high-gravity and wild that hummed between their joined hands even before the magic started.

It grew each time they did ritual work together. Eloise had been right. The more their magic worked together, the more their magic _worked_ together.

Maybe they were nervous, or just tired from all the landfills they’d been cleaning up, but the wave of magic flowing between them all took a long time to start up. The high druids were on their fifth round of the incantation song before the faintest glow started between their hands. When it happened, there was a rush of exhaled breaths, relief and exhaustion heavy in the air.

It felt odd to be doing something so big without Ron and Hermione with him. The landfills, those had been a little secret, a series of tiny thrills from doing something covertly and somehow managing to not give it away. But this was so much more than that. This could change the entire wizarding world’s future. It could change the Muggle world’s future. It could save one and destroy the other.

He hoped they were doing the right thing. A small part of him wanted to un-link his hands and step back from the ritual circle. He was afraid they were incorrect, that they would damn them all to experimentation under Muggle hands. The rest of him knew that they _had to_ take this risk because no matter what happened, they couldn’t just let magic die. Even if they all died in the process, magic had to live. So instead, he moved with the Hufflepuffs into the ritual diagram position, a complicated, perfect shape that could not be represented with Muggle geometry.

He didn’t care that his singing voice wasn’t the best and neither did anyone else. The spells had so far worked best being sung, so they sang them. The light grew between their hands and their voices grew with it. Draco’s magic was thrumming into Harry’s, almost sensual in its ebbs and flows. Harry closed his eyes and let it flow through him. Their spell song was smooth and harmonic; it reverberated through the trees and Harry was sure every single person at Hogwarts could hear them. 

But he knew they couldn’t. Hufflepuffs did not leave things like that to chance.

When their light became so bright that Harry could see it behind his closed eyelids, they stopped. It didn’t take any verbal or visual cue – they just knew. By now, they’d done so many rituals together that their magic knew, and if their magic knew, they knew it, too. The magic hung heavy in the air, a weight pressing down on them from all sides. The ancient druids’ tethering ritual was on the verge of being torn asunder, freed from the chains of dying flowers.

“ _Dirumpo_!” they shouted together.

It shattered. Every tether from Scotland to Wales, Ireland to England, broke apart at their command. Harry’s breath was indistinct from the dozens of others around him, but it rang in his ears nonetheless. He was shaking from magic and adrenaline. His body was chilled to the bone despite the excellent warming charms in his cloak. His voice was raw and breaking on every word, but perhaps some of that came from the overwhelming awe he felt at seeing this happen. 

Six months ago, none of them had even believed the legends that the druids linked Britain’s magic to flowers. Tonight, they were undoing that legend. There was no going back.

Magic swam around them. Hogwarts was hidden in a mist of swirling lights... surely the students and staff could see this from their windows? Surely everyone was watching this light show, wondering what was causing it? Professor Sprout would know; she would watch from her warm rooms in the dungeons and know because many years ago, she’d done magic with her own cohort of Hufflepuffs. Not magic to this extent, surely, but she would know it nonetheless.

The next part of the ritual began, where they would attempt to re-tether Britain’s magic to the idea of Muggle children, and hope that it stuck. If it worked, fate would find Muggle children and for some of them, magic would latch onto them, follow them around until it changed their genetic makeup enough that a core began to form inside them. And then magic would fill it. Muggles would become Muggleborns. There was no way to know who would be selected for magic, whose bodies would accepted it, or if it would even work at all. But if it did, then the Muggleborn population of the wizarding world would increase year by year, with more and more magic finding purchase in little children with each new birth.

The renewal of their magic would be in the lives of their people. So long as people lived in Britain, so too would magic.

They had to move into a different diagram for the re-tethering, as tethering to an idea was different from tethering to a species of flowers. This time, their formation was vaguer, more ambiguous and soft. Their hands crossed one another’s bodies to reach the person beyond, and Harry lost hold of Draco’s hand while the stepped around Neville and Justin. It felt wrong to be disconnected from Draco during such a high-magic moment. Harry felt a connection with all of the Hufflepuffs by now, but with Draco, it was different. It transcended. It was as if their magic knew they worked best together.

They chanted for what seemed like hours, the same complicated spell that Su, Anthony, Mandy, and Justin had all worked out together, with unwitting help from other Ravenclaws. Harry didn’t know what the words translated to, but he felt their power in each repetition. More importantly, he felt his own power. He’d always taken himself for granted, never quite comprehending the value of his own magical skill until now, in Hufflepuff, when his skill was not only his own, but part of a whole. It was part of Eloise’s skill and Justin’s skill. It was part of sassy Katie Parker’s skill. It was part of Draco’s skill – and Draco’s own magic felt so close and comfortable to Harry that he didn’t know how he’d ever lived without having it around. He knew he couldn’t from this night forward. There was nothing for it – Draco had to be in Harry’s life forever, and so did Draco’s magic. 

Harry was doing this for that, too.

At last, came the moment to bind the tether. Their chant died off and the magic in the air stilled, listening. It waited for a command. They would give it one, and then the magic would decide if it wanted to obey it or not. It was out of their hands.

They were all exhausted. Katie Parker was sagging against the sixth year boy she was linked to, and Hannah looked like she was standing by sheer force of will. Even Alick and Emily’s voices were strained as they called out the final command. 

“Cum terra filiorum, si quid voles.”

There was a moment of utter silence, and then a great crash. It was louder than anything Harry had ever heard. His head rang, the sound so loud it was agonising. He wanted to clap his hands over his ears but he couldn’t let go, wouldn’t let go, until the spell was done. They had to finish it. They couldn’t let it die. They–

The sound stopped. Every single Hufflepuff collapsed. The last thing Harry saw before the world went black was the unnaturally pale irises of Draco’s grey eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Cum terra filiorum, si quid voles." - join with the children of this land, if it pleases you (roughly)


	11. The Loyalty of Hufflepuff

Professor Sprout found them in the morning, just as the first rays of daylight were peeking over the horizon. She had a wheelbarrow of garden supplies and chocolate with her. Harry was Ennervated by Addolgar Rees, who was still covered in morning dew and snow when he spelled Harry awake. 

“Morning, Harry,” Addolgar said nonchalantly as he moved onto tapping a spell against Eloise’s head. “Sleep well?"

Harry shook his head, trying to dislodge the fog from his brain. The sky was pink and purple with a new day. Snow crunched underneath him whenever he moved. “We slept here all night?” he asked.

Addolgar shrugged. “Ennervate!” he said, and Katie Parker groaned and rolled over. “No, we passed out here all night."

“Fuuuck,” Harry said, yawning. “Wow.” He pulled himself up on his hands and turned to find Draco still slumped beside him. He got his wand out and tapped him on the head, softly whispering, “Ennervate."

Draco blinked drowsily, his eyes taking several seconds to focus on his surroundings and Harry. He rubbed his head, pulled himself into a seated position. “Merlin,” he said. “It’s nearly dawn. We were out all night."

Harry tipped his head, directing Draco’s attention to where Professor Sprout was gently Ennervating Fayth Walliams. “Sprout found us,” he said. “We probably would’ve slept right through it if she hadn’t."

Draco looked wary. “You don’t think she would...? Because this definitely broke the Statute..."

Harry bit his lip, but then shook his head. “She’s a Hufflepuff."

Draco’s mouth parted in remembrance. “Oh, right,” he said, and was no longer worried at all.

“Badgers!” called Professor Sprout, her voice somehow still soft. They were all awake now, some more coherent than others, but awake nonetheless. The cold from the snow was starting to get to them now that they were conscious, and Harry was sure some of them would need a potion or three to heal themselves of frostbite. “I must ask you all to return to the Sett now, please. I will have Madam Pomfrey see to you all there, and then I must ask those of you who are well enough to attend breakfast in the Great Hall. It would not do for all of my upper years to be missing the morning after such a racket of a storm."

“A storm?” asked Wayne.

“Oh yes,” said Professor Sprout, eyes twinkling. “We had the most outstanding thunderstorm last night. I’ve never seen anything of the like."

The Hufflepuffs – mostly fourth years, and _definitely not_ Harry or Draco – giggled.

Professor Sprout smiled. “Oh!” she said, and pointed to her wheelbarrow. “Do file by as you return to the tunnel. I want to see two bars in every hand. That’s four chocolates apiece! Don’t give me any lip about this! I suspect that you will all need every last ounce so I want it eaten before breakfast. Now, go along, and do get some rest. All Herbology classes will be cancelled today – I anticipate finding some storm damage to the greenhouses that prevents me from holding class.” She winked.

They did not need to be told twice. 

-x-

Harry had barely made it to a yellow pouf before he crashed, falling headfirst into the fluffy pillow and refusing to move for anything. The others had not fared much better. Draco made it as far as an armchair, but that was likely due more to an ingrained sense of dignity than any real strength. Harry did not have such a thing to worry about. He lay on stomach over the pouf, staring at the fireplace and trying to chew on his chocolate bar. Draco’s feet were right by his head. His boots were muddy. That never happened. 

The barrel door opened. Harry couldn’t be arsed to turn his head to see who else would be coming in, but he didn’t have to. Madam Pomfrey’s distinguished ‘Tsk tsks!’ were recognisable enough.

“I do say, what have you lot got into this time?” she asked, scanning their weary faces. She huffed. “These Golden Cup meetings aren’t anything like those we had when I was a girl! Well, I suppose a round of Revitalising Potions is as good a start as any.” She went around the room, passing out vials of potion and, in some cases, helping the student sit up long enough to swallow it down. Harry got his down, barely, before slumping back on the pouf and closing his eyes (just to rest them).

Madam Pomfrey came round twice more with two different potions, and by the third, Harry was feeling almost human again. He crawled off the pouf and up into the chair to curl up with Draco. Harry rested his head on Draco’s shoulder, having every intent of going back to sleep right there.

“Potter,” Draco growled. “We have to go to breakfast."

Despite this, Draco’s head was slowly falling against Harry’s. 

"Give me five minutes,” Harry said. He felt Draco nod against his head, and then nothing.

-x-

Harry woke with a start. What had woken him? The movement jostled Draco, who grumbled, curled around Harry, and fell back asleep. The common room was nearly empty. All of the fourth years were gone, and most of the fifth and sixth. Most of the seventh and eighth were sprawled across couches and poufs or the floor by the fireplace. Neville was dead asleep against the vine wall and Tracey Davis was laid out in the hallway leading to the girls’ dorms, as if she’d tried valiantly to make it to her bed, and failed. The Sett looked like the scene of a zombie apocalypse film. 

A bell tolled, and Harry jumped up, realising what had woken him up. The eight a.m. bells. Breakfast was half over. “Malfoy,” Harry whispered, shaking his shoulder. “Malfoy, we have to get up. It’s eight."

Draco’s eyes shot open. “Defence,” he said, bolting from the chair. He stumbled to their dorm room and disappeared inside, appearing seconds later with his book bag. “We have to make an appearance at breakfast,” he said on his return, and then raised his voice, “Wake up, you lazy Hufflepuffs!"

There was a cacophony of groans. Someone flung a pillow at Draco’s head, but there was so little power behind it that it fell three feet short. 

“Come on,” Draco said, all business now. “Get up and go to breakfast, then fake an injury in your first class to go back to sleep. We have to show up."

“But, Draco,” Luna said drowsily, barely lifting her head from the pile of poufs she’d gathered into a bed, “the nargles."

“The nargles will eat you if you continue to sleep, Lovegood,” Draco warned.

Luna shook her head. “They’re vegetarian.” She closed her eyes again.

“Up!” Harry yelled, because surely wizards were just like brooms. “We promised Professor Sprout."

"Fine, fine,” said Anthony. He was laying on top of Justin, who had elected not to make the trek back to Ravenclaw Tower. Harry didn’t blame him. Ernie Macmillan and Eloise were also in attendance, though the other old Hufflepuffs were gone, either to breakfast or their own dorms. Eventually, the rest of them were standing, books in hand, if not exactly awake and ready to face the day.

“You had to bring Professor Sprout into it,” Addolgar Rees said witheringly, as he passed Harry to enter the barrel. “It isn’t fair to use our dedication and loyalty to get what you want."

Harry rolled his eyes. He was no more awake than the rest of them, despite the Pepper-Up potion from Madam Pomfrey, so they could just fuck right off.

At breakfast, there was a cornucopia of carbohydrates. Harry had never seen such a health unconscious spread at the Hufflepuff table. There were croissants, crullers, donuts, bran flakes, porridge, and waffles. There was bacon and sausage and kippers. There was blood pudding and potatoes. There were seven kinds of coffee. It went on and on. 

Their table was half-full already with the younger years who were not yet part of the Golden Cup yet, and the older ones who’d managed to stay awake. They were eating slowly, deliberately, trying to get as many calories of energy into their bodies as they could. Harry sat next to Hannah, who had apparently forgotten that she was no longer officially in Hufflepuff. Her sister had already returned to her new house, but had apparently sneaked several slices of toast with jam with her.

“You left me,” Harry heard Neville mutter as he slid in on Hannah’s other side.

“Oh,” said Hannah, as if only now realising it. “I forgot.” Neville nodded.

They were all too tired for conversation this morning. Harry and Draco did not show affection for one another outside of the Sett, but they couldn’t help leaning against one another this morning. Harry didn’t even care what Ron would say. He would worry about it after he made it through this day and slept for two more. There was no way in hell he was making it to Care of Magical Creatures tomorrow.

“Everyone’s looking very _chipper_ this morning,” said Professor Sprout quietly as she passed. They all straightened immediately, and she hummed in approval. “Good,” she said. “It wouldn’t do to be tired today."

The message was heard loud and clear. They gave all of their focus to appearing as normal as possible. Just one day of classes. That’s all they had to make it through. Harry had Defence and then he was done, as Herbology had been cancelled. There was really just one thing Harry was waiting for, however, and it arrived with the flapping of dozens of wings not long after. Draco’s _Daily Prophet_ dropped between them, and it took both of them to get it turned over. The front page headline read, _‘Magical storm shakes magical and Muggle Britain, auroras missing’_. 

“Well, _something_ happened,” said Harry.

Draco hmm’d. “I wish we knew _what_ something. We could’ve accidentally tethered it all to my painfully uncouth cousins for all we know."

“How long do you think will it take?” Harry asked.

Draco sighed. “I suppose we’ll just have to wait for some Muggle children to show accidental magic. It could be years."

“In the meantime,” said Neville, leaning around Hannah, “we can at least measure the magical energy around the country and see if it’s on the mend. If we’ve successfully tethered it, it’ll be happy just hanging about until it finds a child it wants to bind to."

“So we wait,” said Harry.

Hannah slumped against his shoulder. Apparently slumping in Neville’s direction was too much effort. “We wait,” she sighed.

-x-

None of the Hufflepuffs went home for holidays. Most of them had had parents in Hufflepuff themselves, and they all knew the drill from their own time at Hogwarts. The others used NEWTs or OWLs as an excuse. Harry told Ron and Hermione he needed time to himself, and they let him have it after only a few suspicious looks. This night was simply too important to miss, even if it was very strange not to spend Christmas with one or both of them. Hermione was hosting Millicent and Pansy at her house over the holidays anyway, as their homes and funds were still mostly tied up in Ministry red tape, and their parents were certainly tied up in Azkaban. Ron needed to be with his own family; this year, the Weasleys just needed to be with one another. 

Yule came on a Sunday that year. There wasn’t a feast or a Yule Ball to mark it, but there was a quiet memorial for the students and staff who had lost their lives in the battle last May. Those who remained at the school had a traditional Yule dinner at the single table in the Great Hall and told stories of friends who weren’t with them anymore. 

By evening, Neville was a nervous wreck and Harry was quiet, his thoughts turned back on the night of the autumn equinox, three months ago, when Eloise Midgen had believed in him enough to put him forward as an initiate for the Order of the Golden Cup. Tonight they would ask him if he wanted to become a full member. They still had two hours to wait, and their dorm room was heavy with anticipation. 

“Longbottom, stop pacing before I stop you from ever pacing again,” said Draco, who was laid back on his bed with his forearm thrown over his eyes. How he saw any of the pacing, Harry would never know.

“Fuck off, Malfoy, I’m nervous,” said Neville. He was muttering to himself, apparently a variety of proposal scripts. Harry tried to ignore it.

“She’ll say yes,” said Anthony. He was reading a book on forgotten princesses of Sub Saharan Africa. His interests had, obviously, expanded beyond Eastern Europe.

Neville whirled around. “How do you know? Did she say anything? Did _you_ say anything to her?"

“Engagements are boring,” said Anthony. “So obviously I did not. I’m simply commenting on the fact that you have been dating for over two years, you get along, both of your families would approve of the other, and you’re both Hufflepuffs. Of course she’ll say yes."

“Oh, right,” said Neville, who remarkably seemed bolstered by this. He shoved the ring box in his pocket, pulled it out quickly to check one more time that the ring was actually still in the box, and then put it in his pocket again. He flung himself on his bed and sighed happily. “She’ll say yes."

At ten, they dressed in their good cloaks and made their way down to the common room. They weren’t the last to arrive. Waiting only gave Harry more time to think. When Eloise finally arrived with Ernie and Megan, he felt a rush of relief wash over him. She smiled warmly at him as she approached carrying a lantern in each hand.

“Here,” said Eloise, handing Harry her second lantern.

He took it, confused.

“It’s to light your way,” said Eloise. “We are the Order of the Golden Cup because we bring light to the world. A lantern is given to every fourth year on their initiation. Tonight is yours. Use the lantern to bring light to the lives of others."

Harry nodded, unable to speak. He had no idea how Hufflepuffs did this to him – made him feel both overwhelmed and perfectly at ease. He was probably always looking like he was about to cry, which was _not_ the case. It was just a lot to take in. Constantly.

“Thanks,” he said, finally.

He could do that. They’d already begun to do it. He only had to keep going. He was a Hufflepuff, and that’s what they did. 

They would either bring in the dawn or the dusk.

Either way, it would be a golden age.


	12. The Epilogue (of Hufflepuff)

The magic came slowly. It happened while the UMN was still in deliberations over the verdict for the protesting Obliviator, Prius O’Dell. The MUS was sending more stringent sanctions through their Senate when the first set of new Muggleborns quite literally popped up in late January. An entire class of twelve Kindergarteners in rural Hampshire began levitating above their desks after having fizzy drinks during a class party. Their teacher managed to snap a picture and it ran for three days straight in the local and national papers.

The day that story came out, McGonagall and Flitwick had run from the breakfast table without a word. At dinner, the Headmistress announced, somewhat bemusedly, that there were twelve new names on the Hogwarts registry, due for letters in six years.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing in my life,” she told the Great Hall. “But I daresay we should view this as a… as a _good thing_. It seems our luck has changed. Magic is no longer receding… it’s _growing_.”

The soft smile Professor Sprout gave the Hufflepuff table that night kept Harry warm all through the rest of January. Then in February, more news came out. Scientists wanted to study the children, but it turned out there really was safety in numbers. Their parents banded together and caused such an uproar in the media that no one could forget the Hampshire Hoverers, and they couldn’t be whisked away quite so quietly.

The news programmes ran segments constantly discussing the abundance of supernatural happenings of late. When Carmarthen was destroyed, only some people believed it was “unnatural” – which is to say, un-Muggle. Those who did were labelled mad. But with each lightshow above a disappearing landfill, more and more set aside their need for normality and started to wonder. By the time the kindergarteners began levitating, most everyone was in agreement: aliens had landed on Earth. Magic was still too extreme an explanation to believe.

It didn’t happen again until May, just as Harry and the rest of his year were sitting down for their NEWTs. The news came at breakfast the morning of the Potions exam, which Harry, Neville, Ron, and Goyle had sensibly declined to take. They were all lounging at the Hufflepuff table, which had an even larger spread laid out to keep the Hufflepuffs well-fed and energised for their exams, around ten a.m. when the owl arrived. It was a special edition _Prophet_ – something they’d got a lot of in recent months.

_‘Ten-year-old gymnast performs thirteen aerial backflips before landing on beam at local competition!’_

“Well, that’s definitely accidental magic,” Ron said, taking another Chocolate Frog. He was more inclined to eat with them at the Hufflepuff table now that there was a constant supply of chocolate to hand at every meal (and in between them). “Merlin, there’s been a lot of breaks of the Statute recently. Why aren’t the Obliviators doing anything?”

Harry and Neville shared a look.

“Hermione said Minister Shacklebolt is punishing the Americans,” Harry offered. It was a new year, so technically Britain had a fresh quota of 600 Obliviations they could use, but the Ministry reported that they were electing to use none of them, in ‘deference to the wishes of the MUS.’ What a load of bollocks that was.

“Good,” said Ron. He hesitated. “Only, now it’s sort of punishing us, too. ‘Cause the Muggles are going to figure us out.”

Goyle shrugged. “Who cares?” he said around a mouthful of quiche. He was having an extended breakfast this morning. “If our magic’s working again, we can always hide if we have to.”

“I suppose,” said Ron, thoughtfully. “But if they know about us, they’ll know we’re hiding. And they might start looking more closely when we make mistakes out in Muggle places.”

“They probably will,” Neville said. “But it’s happening whether we like it or not.”

“I still think that some wizards are behind this,” Ron said. “All those Muggle rubbish places getting cleaned up? And Hermione’s said some Muggle diseases are on the decline. And now all these Muggle kids suddenly having magic? Muggleborn are one thing… but there’s never been _this many_ before.”

Harry said nothing. He was terrible at subterfuge, and keeping his mouth shut was his best hope. He decided to change the subject: “Are you ever going to tell me what this project you were working on was?”

Ron went red.

"We’re writing a cookbook,” said Goyle. Harry snickered. Ron turned even redder.

"Potter."

Harry turned around in relief. “Finished with your Potions NEWT already?” he asked.

Draco smirked. “You didn’t really think I would need the entire time, did you?"

"Never that,” Harry promised, smiling.

"Great,” Ron muttered. “Now your lesser half’s here and we’ll all have to sit through your nauseating Hufflepuff courtship."

"Bite your tongue, Weasley,” Draco said, without heat. “You won’t get the honour of my company, anyway. I’ve come to take Potter to Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade,” Harry repeated.

"Yes,” said Draco. “We have an errand."

Harry looked back at Ron, Neville, and Goyle. They shrugged. Whatever then. “Alright,” said Harry, standing. “What’s this errand?"

"You’ll see when we get there,” said Draco. “Come along."

Harry rolled his eyes, tossed a little wave at the others, and tagged along after Draco out of the Great Hall. They didn’t immediately go to Hogsmeade, but first diverted down to the Sett so Draco could drop off his things. Harry waited for him by the oak tapestry, tracing his name with his eyes. _Harry Potter - 1998_ , it said in golden thread. And right next to it, like another leaf sprouting from the same branch: _Draco Malfoy - 1998_. 

"Ready?”

Harry turned around, smiling, and took Draco’s hand. “I’m ready,” he said. 

They made their way out the castle and down the path to the gates. The clearing where they did their rituals was on the other side of the castle, but Harry felt like the entire forest was part of them now. He brushed his fingers along the leaves and branches as they walked past, humming the melody of the spell they incanted before Yule.

The reached the Three Broomsticks and kept going. To Harry’s surprise, they also passed the post office, the Quidditch supply shop, Madam Puddifoot’s, and Honeydukes. They were quickly approaching the Shrieking Shack, and soon they were past that, too. “Where are we going?” Harry asked again.

Draco smirked at him. “No questions,” he said. “You’ll see."

Harry rolled his eyes but in truth he didn’t mind. He really didn’t mind too much when he was with Draco. Even when they fought, which happened surprisingly rarely (perhaps it was a Hufflepuff thing) Harry liked being around him. Draco led him to the top of a hill beyond the Shrieking Shack and, finally, stopped at the top.

"This was the errand?” asked Harry.

Draco nodded. “Look down there,” he said, and Harry followed his pointing finger with his eyes. The entire valley was pink with heather. It blanketed the ground as far as the eye could see.

Harry inhaled sharply. “It worked,” he said.

Draco’s arm came around his waist, tugging him closer. Harry let himself be pulled in, his eyes fixed on the pinks and purples carpeting the valley. There was more now than there had even been before. The heather had rebounded from its magical trap and flourished even more.

"Yeah, it did,” said Draco. 

“We did that,” Harry said wonderingly. “All of us, together.” 

“Not such a big hero now, are you?” asked Draco. His eyebrow was arched in a way that made Harry want to lick his neck and perhaps his clavicle and a bit further if he could get away with it.

“I guess not,” he said, laughing. It was true; he wasn't the hero in this story, and Harry found that he liked it. He squeezed Draco tighter and let his eyes once again roam over the brand new heather. “The others should see this, too. They helped do it.”

“Later,” Draco promised. “We can be Hufflepuffs later. Right now, let me be a Slytherin and keep you to myself.”

Harry flushed. “Then I’ll be a Gryffindor and do something brave.”

Draco eyed him. “What kind of brave thing?”

Harry just said it, uncaring of the consequences. “I love you.”

Draco blinked rapidly. “That was certainly very brave.” Harry waited. A flush rose to Draco’s cheeks and he looked away before glancing shyly back. “We said we wouldn’t be Hufflepuffs right now.”

Harry smirked. “It's ingrained now. Just accept it,” he said.

Draco sighed. “Fine. I... love you, too.” He cleared his throat quickly, glancing around to make sure no one else had heard, which was ridiculous because they were a ways out of town on top of a hill. “Now let me be a Slytherin. It’s been so long since I got to indulge.”

Harry laughed. “As you wish, you evil thing.”

“Thank you,” Draco said. He tugged Harry close again, and together they watched the heather. It never changed, but that was a good thing. The dawn had already come. The light was already golden.

-x-

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! All comments are extremely welcome either here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-fan-fair.livejournal.com/100999.html).
> 
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